


Coming Through

by ungoodpirate



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Skank Kurt Hummel, Skank!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:40:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ungoodpirate/pseuds/ungoodpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s not a bad person. He just likes people to think he is.” </p><p>All Blaine wanted to do was brave public school again after traumatic events in his past. He didn’t expect to be magnetically pulled into Kurt Hummel's life, a boy decorated with pink hair and dark rumors. This is a story of two boys dealing with similar pasts in dissimilar ways, and finding the means to pull back their protective layers in order to open up to each other, to life, and to love. </p><p>Skank Kurt with canon Blaine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> There are a myriad of reasons I want to write a skank!Kurt AU and why I am writing it with the themes I am writing it with. I swear, I could write an entire essay, but I figure I should let it stand for itself. I've been stewing over this for a while now, so I hope you enjoy it. Disclaimer, there is a French class in this chapter that includes French dialogue. Most of it is written via Google translate and is probably extremely inaccurate. Also, I am not providing translations for the French for several reasons, but one is particular, this story is from Blaine's perspective and he doesn't understand French very well, so as he is confused, so are you, the reader.

                 His mom’s hands are laced tight on the steering wheel.

                “Are you sure, Blaine?” she asks.

                “I was sure five minutes ago, and I’m still sure now.” In the mouth of another teenager this would have sounded like snotty backtalk, but Blaine lifts it from these depths with a polite, teasing smile and a neutral tone.

                “Well, Dalton doesn’t start for another week, so… I want you to know you’re allowed to change your mind. It’s okay not to be ready.”

                Blaine unlatches his seatbelt. He knows if he sits here in front of the school any longer, Mom might just be able to convince him to turn back

                “I need to do this,” he tells her. He reaches for the door handle.

                “Blaine –,” cuts her voice quickly. Her hand is on his shoulder.

                Blaine looks to her, and her eyes are wet. Crap. 

                She grimace-smiles through her own worry just for him. “Blaine, I love you. You are brave, and strong, and amazing. You’re doing to do great.”

                Blaine ducks his head, really not needing to be crying on his first day back in public school. “Thanks, Mom,” he mumbles. Her sentiments are much better than his father’s gruff, ‘About time, son’ that makes Blaine want to both grit his teeth in suppressed rage and huff in exasperation.

                He pushes open the car door and climbs out. First day of school, first day at a new school, first day back in public school. Blaine knows he can do this. He tugs at the strap of his mostly empty satchel, and enters the school through the double doors.

                He’s greeted by shoulders and roughly brushing-by bodies and not a single ‘excuse me’. He focuses on his breathing. This was not the orderly hall behavior he had grown used to at Dalton.

                The office. He’s supposed to go the main office first thing to get his schedule, locker number, and all that paperwork. Switching schools a week before the school year starts means he hadn’t received that info ahead of time.

                Doing his best to weave through the crowd, he tries to get someone’s – anyone’s – attention. “Excuse me, can you tell me where the office is? I need to… find the office.”

                Not a single response.

                The bell rings. Has he really been lost that long? The masses get more rough in there hustle to get to their homerooms. But on the upside, the crowd grows smaller.

                By the time the crowd has thinned to stragglers, the second bell rings. Now that there is some visibility, Blaine starts checking out the door labels for a hint of his location. That’s when Blaine gets hit with the hardest body yet, spinning him half around and knocking his satchel off his shoulder.

                “Watch where you’re going, bowtie,” spits out the voice of his assailant (though Blaine doesn’t believe that this person had been particularly targeting him; at least, he hopes that’s not the case). 

                Blaine catches just a glimpse of _the assailant_ as the person moves on in the hall without giving Blaine a second glance. He’s clearly male, even though his voice was high and almost feminine despite the callousness to it. He’s taller than Blaine, though that’s not much of a feat, and wearing heavy combat boots. Blaine’s not sure why the boots, of all details, are the one that he notices and remembers.

…

                Blaine eventually finds the office, where he is given his schedule and post-it note with his locker number and combination from a secretary who was more interested in playing ‘Words With Friends’ than making eye contact. He finds his homeroom, or the last three minutes of it, and is (thankfully) forgiven for his tardiness. He even finds his first and second classrooms without a hitch. Turns out McKinley High is actually fairly easy to navigate with room numbers that are ordered sensibly. It has nothing on the sprawling and zig-zag nature of Dalton, which is what happens when you turn a building that had begun as a residence into a school.

                Third period is a study hall, but today that time slot is dedicated to a meeting with the guidance counselor about his transfer and assimilation into the school. Miss Pillsbury’s office is the epitome of orderly and prime, as is the woman herself. She smiles kindly at Blaine as he enters.

                “How’s your first day been so far, Blaine?” she asks him.

                “It’s only been a couple hours, but okay,” he says. It’s a polite, political answer. He doesn’t want to complain about the difficulty he’s had with the other students, in that they’ve so far completely ignored him.

                “Your mother made me aware of the incident that occurred at first high school.”

                Blaine tenses and nods with a tight jaw.

                “I want you to know that you come to me at any time with any problems that you may have adjusting, or with classes, or with other students. This school’s not… well, it’s not perfect. Let’s say that. But I want this –,” She waves her hands vaguely to indicate her office. “To be a safe place.”

                It’s an improvement from his old, old school’s administration at least, if not exactly Dalton. “Thank you,” he says.

                “Now, let’s talk about extracurriculars. They’re good on college resumes and there’s no better way at making friends… I have a list here.” Miss Pillsbury starts to go through a desk drawer.

                “I was in an acappella choir at Dalton. Do you have anything like that here?”

                Miss Pillsbury just beams at that tidbit of knowledge. “We have a glee club. The New Directions. They’re meeting for first  time this school year this afternoon in the choir room right after last period. I’ll tell Mr. Schuester to expect you?”

                “Yeah, that sounds perfect actually,” Blaine says, feeling more inspired right now today than he had at any point so far. Glee is something to look forward to, and maybe Miss Pillsbury is right in that it might be the best way to make new friends.

                There’s a heavy, singular bang on the office door, making both Miss Pillsbury and Blaine jolt in their seats. Miss Pillsbury gets from her chair to answer it.

                “Oh, Kurt, you’re early… surprisingly.”

                “Anything to get out of class,” replies a droll voice, a figure leaning languidly in the doorway.

                Wait. Blaine recognizes that voice… his assailant. Blaine checks the feet. Yup, combat boots, laced halfway up the calf, over a pair of skinny jeans – really skinny jeans.

                Looking up, this is the first Blaine has seen his assailant’s face, which is pale and sculpture-like. There’s a wide streak of hot pink in the front of his hair. Light glints off of two piercings – an eyebrow bar and a ring at the corner of his bottom lip – as this boy’s face shifts from a blend of disinterested and irritated to a variant blend of disinterested and irritated.  While not a type of style Blaine would usually ascribe to – he prefers tucked in and orderly – on this guy it actually all comes together into something…

                Okay, Blaine needs to stop. _Needs to stop_. When he evaluates a boy’s appearance in such detail it means something. Blaine finds this guy attractive, physically, at least. His personality so far is leaving much to be desired.

                “Blaine and I are just about done. Unless there’s anything else you want to discuss?” Miss Pillsbury looks to Blaine. He shakes his head no. He doesn’t.

                Before Blaine can even get out of his chair, this _Kurt_ has slunk into the office and plopped both heavily and lazily down in the chair next to his. He’s so slouched down that he appears considerably shorter than Blaine sitting, although Blaine knows that’s not the case.

                As Blaine is ushered out the door, and Miss Pillsbury closes it behind him, he overhears her say to Kurt, “I hope we can start out this year positively.”

…            

                Blaine takes a desk in the front row in his next class and tries to remain only mildly perturbed when the desk beside him remains empty as every single other fills up as the class enters in bunches. He’s just the new kid, not the black plague.

                “Bienvenue à la classe française deux,” the teacher, Mrs. Boggart as Blaine’s schedule reads, announces from the front of the room. “Comment allez-vous?”

                After a pause, Mrs. Boggart waiting patiently with a dampening grin, a few students stutter out a mechanical and barely remembered response: “Je vais bien, merci, et vous?”

                “Bien, bien,” she says with a few claps at the abysmal response. “J'espère –”

                The classroom door pushes open quickly, and it is none other than Kurt “the assailant” Hummel that barged into Blaine’s guidance counselor meeting barging in now.

                “Tu es en retard, Monsieur Hummel.”

                Casually, Kurt pulls a slip of paper with two-fingers out of his absurdly tight jeans (how had Blaine not noticed just quite how _are they actually painted on_ tight his jeans were before?) and flicks it onto her desk. He spies around the room – back row to front – until he finds the only empty desk, the one next to Blaine.

                Scoffing, he saunters over, pulls out the chair with a clank, and drops into it. Blaine watches him with a drift of the eye, but not the turn of the head, through every step.

                Mrs. Boggart clears her throat to re-gather the class’s attention, getting them to respond to her questions. Now, Blaine has to admit that foreign languages tend to be one of his weaker subjects, but the class almost refuses to talk, period, just so they don’t have to try and talk in French.  It only last for the first ten minutes before Mrs. Boggart’s forced grin turns flat. It’s rather disheartening to watch.

                “Fine,” she finally says, her voice bland in English. “We’re pairing up to do talking exercises.” She pairs up the students with someone sitting near, and Blaine knows what’s coming before she reaches him. “Mr. Hummel and…,” she peers at him, confused. “Mr. New Kid.”

                What was this school?

                Kurt glances sideways at him, like it’s his first time noticing Blaine’s existence. Maybe it is. Kurt had made it so fully and so quickly onto Blaine’s radar, but who’s to say that’s mutual. Kurt might literally keep running into Blaine, but that doesn’t mean this isn’t the first he’s stopped to really look where he was going.  

                A studious looking girl shoots her hand up in the air. “Mrs. Boggart, what’s the talking exercise about?”

                “Anything. Absolutely anything. As long as it’s in French.”

                Kurt laughs quietly. It’s the most engaged gesture Blaine’s witnessed from him yet.

                “Je m’appelle Blaine,” Blaine says tentatively.

                Kurt raises a sleek eyebrow. “Tu t'appelles noeud papillion.”

                “What? I mean, quoi?”

                Kurt leans forward, close into Blaine’s space as Blaine stiffens in it. He tweaks Blaine’s bowtie, a little rough, and repeats, “Noeud papillion.”

                Bowtie. It means bowtie. Like Kurt – before Blaine knew he was named Kurt – had called him in the hall, after their first and most physical collision.

                With no prompting, Kurt starts spouting off sentences in perfectly-accented French well beyond first-day-of-French-two level. Blaine’s too blown back in surprise to follow, but if he wasn’t, he probably didn’t have the French knowledge to follow anyway. He catches a few familiar words and phrases, but not enough to puzzle it together into sense.

                Kurt pauses – perhaps waiting for the response Blaine doesn’t have. He shakes his head. “Un autre imbecile.”

                “Okay, I’m not conversational in French yet, but I know what _imbecile_ means,” Blaine retorts, incidentally just as Mrs. Boggart is making her rounds.

                “All in French, new kid,” she says as she passes.

                “Je m’appelle Blaine,” he calls after her in an act of crass daring he never would performed at Dalton. Kurt _almost_ looks amused.

                “Bien!” Mrs. Boggart yells back.

                “Peut-être tu n'êtes pas si mal, noeud papillion,” Kurt says, though Blaine’s misses the exact wording of his sentence, and only hears his nickname.

                Blaine wishes he had the words to say, ‘you’re kind of confusing, Kurt Hummel.’

…

                Mrs. Boggart made them switch partners halfway through class to continue there “talking exercises” this time after handing our scripts of questions for them to practice. Blaine’s new partner spent most of their time together texting under her desk, only spurting out a few awkward French words when Mrs. Boggart walked past.

                This leaves a lot of free time for Blaine’s eyes to wander over to Kurt, now twisted around in his chair sideways to face his new partner – a neebish kid turning desperately through his textbook for answers as he stutters out French words accented with _ums._

                Blaine can’t see his face, but he just imagines Kurt staring down the boy, increasing his nervousness.

                Blaine shouldn’t be imagining Kurt doing anything.

                He tries to force his thoughts and his eyes away. He shouldn’t be concerning himself so with the Kurt Hummel-type. ‘Trouble’ as Blaine’s Mom would term him. The kid with combat boots, sneer, and coming loudly and blasé late into class, barging in on Blaine’s meeting, nary an inch of respect for authority in him.

                It’s clear what type Kurt Hummel is. Very clear as Kurt Hummel presents himself in a certain way, and Blaine knows all about presentation. He wears neat, parted hair and bowties for his own reasons.

                But those jeans were really tight. Blaine owned his fair share of tight jeans. This Kurt character might have literally panted them on. But they looked really nice on his long legs and up to his…

                “The hell you looking at?” Kurt says snidely, looking over his shoulder to glare at him. Blaine’s caught and now wide-eyed at the accusation. He never planned to go back into the closet with his return to public school. If Dalton taught him anything, it was confidence in himself. But Blaine wants to be out on his own terms, and preferably not the target of some gay panic bullying.

                When Blaine manages to look Kurt in the face, the boy exudes shock with his wide round eyes, so unlike his usually glare.

                Kurt casts his eyes down his back, as if trying to determine the trajectory of Blaine’s gaze just moments before. Blaine’s glued to his chair – glued in position.

                “Were you – ?” Kurt starts, and Blaine almost doesn’t even recognize his voice. Only seeing his mouth move along with words makes sense that they were Kurt’s.

                God, Blaine has flummoxed the troubled kid by staring at his ass. And is Kurt going a little pink around the edges?

                The bell rings. Blaine jolts and Kurt jolts, and the moment is broken. The room is filled with screeching chairs and slamming books, but none screech nor slam louder than Kurt is his flight.

                Then this thing starts to fill Blaine up starting from his gut through his chest until it fills his head: dread. With robot motions he collects his schoolbooks and follows the flow into the hallway, drifting like a leaf on stream. He’s not going to get to be out on his own terms, but Kurt’s. It’s inevitable now that he’s revealed his hand. As a new kid, that’s all he had with his yet unformed identity.

                 Kurt might be a loner, Kurt might not be well-liked, but he was established. He had a reputation and some of the nerdy students moved out his way in the hall, as the cheerleaders sneered as he walked past. Blaine had no power to stop any rumors, no reputation to counteract them. It’s _over._ Welcome to another high school hell. It’s not the being out and proud, it was being found out and proud by checking just some guy out, on the first day, which had the potential for his downfall – for bullying and violence.

                 Somehow he made it to his next class. It was all a matter of how long it would take to for everything to crash.

…

                The shoe didn’t drop that day, although Blaine waited for it with resigned anxiety. Yet nothing occurred. He didn’t even spot any wayward or curious looks, overhear any directed whispering. One public school was like any other; he knew when people were talking – and not kindly – about him.

                By the end of classes, Blaine had to determine Kurt hadn’t said anything, or at least not to anyone with the intention of spreading it. Such rumors wouldn’t die flat on takeoff. Instead of retreating, he decides to try out this glee club.

                It’s an exuberant, eclectic bunch. He auditions with _Piano Man_ and is met with enthusiastic applause. He receives offered high fives from several of the boys and is given eyes from several of the girls. A girl who introduces herself as Rachel Berry leans forward in her seat with an over big smile to say, “We should sing together sometime.” Blaine replied with a polite thanks, because he is not sure if that is a genuine offer or if he is being hit on. Rachel Berry seems very enthusiastic.

It’s not the Warblers, but by the end of practice, Blaine definitely thinks he could make this work for him.

…

                Blaine goes through the next day of school, again without a whisper, rumor, or insult-laced shove implying anything gossip-like was going around about him. The only notable thing is Kurt not only being on time to French class but early. In his earliness, he had chosen sitting far away from Blaine’s front row desk. Maybe it’s a sign to leave sleeping dogs to their lying. But yesterday, three run-ins with Kurt seemed like sign. Really, it all left Blaine confused.

                But no rumors were about. Surely there had been enough for them to spread like wildfire like they were wont to do in high school.

                He can’t help be curious about why not. Why no rumors. It’s not even that Kurt has to malicious to spread them. He could just like to talk. So when he’s heard before fifth period and sixth, and he sees Kurt sitting in the hallway outside of the guidance office, Blaine takes a detour.

                Kurt’s playing Angry Birds on his phone.

                “What’re _you_ doing here?” Kurt when he notices Blaine standing next to him.

                “I’m walking between classes. What’re you doing here?”

                Kurt pulls back the slingshot and releases a bird on his screen. “Whenever I get a detention I get a second punishment where I have to talk Pillsbury about anger management or my feelings or some shit like that.”

                “Detention on the second day?”

                “Detention on the first day. Just talking about it on the second.”              

                “Oh.”

                Kurt rolls his eyes exaggerated, and focuses back on his phone.

                Blaine shifts weight between his feet, a balancing act that belongs to more than just his body. “Um, thank you, by the way, for not saying anything about _that_ _moment_ yesterday.”

                “Well,” Kurt barely glances up at him, but it’s more than he had been giving Blaine. “That would’ve been rather hypocritical of me.”

                It hits Blaine like a sledge hammer.

                “Don’t act so f-ing surprised,” Kurt says, almost bored, attention all back to his game.


	2. Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blaine finds Kurt somewhat attractive and somewhat intriguing

**Chapter 2**

It’s a favor Blaine’s performing for his mom, taking her car to get an oil change on his weekend so she doesn’t have to bother with it. She gives him the address of her regular garage, and Blaine heads over in the early afternoon. It was all normal, until he rings the bell on front counter, and none other than Kurt Hummel appears.

The very Kurt Hummel who’s made deliberately sure not to sit anywhere near him in French II, their only shared class. The very Kurt Hummel who hasn’t graced Blaine with word since the second day of school now two weeks past. Though that might be a blessing, for as far as Blaine can tell, Kurt doesn’t have many nice words to grace people with.  

Kurt Hummel, done up in coveralls and sneering when he recognizes who Blaine in. .

Blaine glances up at a sign on the wall, letting the information that passed through his head so fast before he hadn’t considered it possible. “ _Hummel_ Tire and Lube.”

In a forced customer service voice, Kurt says, “How can I help you, bowtie?”

Blaine’s not even wearing a bowtie today, but he doubts Kurt knows his real name. “Oil change, um, my mom’s car.”

“Lucky for you lunchtime is always slow, so I can get you right in. Pull your car around the side and into deck number four –”

Behind Kurt, the glass-fronted door – to what Blaine’s supposed was an office – opened and a man in a baseball cap stuck his head out.

“Kurt, I told you to get me if any customers showed up.”

Not turning, Kurt responds, annoyed. “It’s just an oil change, Dad. I can handle it.”  

“It’s not a matter of _if_ you can handle it.”

Raising his eyes exasperatedly towards the ceiling, Kurt says, “It’s your lunch break.” It’s clear to Blaine there are many pieces to this argument he’s not privy to.

“Kurt…”

Kurt turns around, and the father and son communicate silently with their eyes. Finally, Kurt’s dad jerks his head to the side, indicating inside of his office. Kurt scoff-sighs.

“We’ll be right back,” Kurt’s dad says to Blaine, and slips back into the office. Kurt turns around, glaring more than usual.

“You can wait there,” Kurt says in a way that is clearly an order and not an accommodation, pointing to a row of plastic chairs against the side of the office wall.

Blaine takes the seat and starts thumbing through a car magazine from a stack on one of the chairs. What did he just walk into? He’s half tempted to sneak out now and find the nearest Jiffy Lube. Or surely there’s an online tutorial for oil changes? A summer spent rebuilding a car with his dad, and yet Blaine never learned this aspect of car maintenance.

Then he hears, or overhears it, the voices in the office. The door must be ajar.

“... it’s not your job to run the garage,” says the low, grumble-y voice of Kurt’s father. “And it’s not your job to look after me.”

“I don’t think taking charge on an oil change counts as running the garage,” Kurt snarky voice replies.

“Kurt,” says the father, warningly.

A short silence, and Kurt speaks again, “It is my job to look after you. Who else will?”

“As much as you think otherwise, Kurt, you’re still just a kid.”

“And I’d really not like to be an orphan.”

There’s a long quietness, and Blaine shouldn’t be witnessing this personal moment, but his ears strain anyway to hear what’s going on. There’s a gruff of quieter voices and indistinguishable words, a more intimate conversation.

The voices start grow loud again, and Blaine hears snippets.

Kurt: “… can you just trust me a little bit?”

His father: “You know it’s not… don’t need to shoulder…”

A car screeches outside on the road, followed by a trail of honking, hiding all conversation from Blaine for a moment.

“I just want you to be okay,” Kurt says.

His father: “Don’t you think I want the same for you?”

Blaine feels his throat tighten up. He’s never shared such an open moment with his own dad.

“Just take a longer break,” Kurt implores, “For me?”

Kurt’s dad grumbles, but it must be in agreement, for the conversation has ended. Blaine hears footsteps approaching – Kurt must be wearing boots again. Then the footsteps pause still inside the door, maybe in pause as Kurt notices the door is open.

Blaine raises the magazine higher to cover his face. Kurt comes out, stops, standing tall in front of him.

“How much of that did you eavesdrop?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was just reading this magazine here.”

“It’s upside down,” Kurt says dryly.

Blaine dropped his eyes fast to the magazine in his hands. It wasn’t upside down. Kurt had just tested him and Blaine had failed.

“Well, then,” Kurt says, flicking up an eyebrow. “Don’t go saying anything about this around school.”

Unusually charged up, Blaine snarks in return. “What would I say that could be that damaging. That you do other things with your life than walking around with a glare on your face and talking condescendingly to people in French.”

“Whatever,” Kurt says, but he seems relieved by Blaine’s response. “Let’s go change your goddamn oil.” He starts to walk away.

Blaine calls after him: “But I don’t know why you are so embarrassed. I would love to have a relationship with my father like that.”

“Shut up about shit you know nothing about.”

“It was a compliment.”

“I don’t care what it was. I told you to shut up.”

“That’s not really a way to talk to a paying customer, is it?”

“Would you shut up, please?” replied Kurt, complete with a mock curtsey. Blaine’s never heard a _please_ before that’s sounded so much like a _fuck you._

Kurt had Blaine pull his car into one of the garage docks as ordered earlier and ordered again. This kid sure had some customer service charm. Instead of going back to the waiting chairs, Blaine perches himself on the edge of a moderately clean work desk. It was a good decision not to wear pastel colored pants today.

"You don't have to stay," says Kurt, who is edging just on this side of polite, probably because his father staying on break depends on it.

"I find it interesting to watch. I know a thing or two about cars."

Kurt throws him a 'bitch, please,' look, and sorts through a tool box. "Well, don't stare at my ass again."

Blaine feels a bit embarrassed. Getting caught staring at anyone's derriere didn't exactly fit into his proper young gentlemen mentality. But Kurt was using this knowledge as a weapon, and Blaine wasn't going to show even the most minor of wounds.

"I promise to keep my eyes to themselves," he says as charmingly as that ridiculous phrase could be said.

Kurt fiddles with the ratchet in his hand, body only half facing Blaine. "You know that was your chance to deny everything."

"Why would I do that?" Blaine challenges, though lightly.

"We don't exactly go to the most gay-friendly school or live in the most gay-friendly town in America." Kurt continues to twist the ratchet, eyes on it like he's solving a rubix cube.

Blaine blinks, heavy, holding back the surge of emotion. "I'm well aware of that," he says, though Kurt doesn't seem to catch the flatness in his voice.

Kurt glances Blaine once-over. "I'm surprised that you haven't been destroyed yet, with the clothes you wear... the bright colors, the patterns." He snorts. "The bowties."

"Bowties are in," Blaine protests.

"Not in high school in Lima," Kurt says. "Not ever."

Blaine's brow furrows of its own accord, knowing there was more there, but not sure where, or how to reach it, or if he wanted to. But he's here, and he doesn't have to be, and he's talking the Kurt, instigating it.

Sure, Kurt's gay. Blaine finds him somewhat attractive and somewhat intriguing. (Whether Blaine finds him appealing is another issue, and the jury's still out.) And it seems fate or coincidence or whatever else is jamming them together. It doesn't mean they will, or have to be, or Blaine even wants to be friends or allies or whatever else they could possibly be. (He's not going there in his thoughts right now. One inappropriate ass-staring was enough.)

For the rest of the oil change, they spoke no words to each beyond strictly business.

…

But gosh darn it, Blaine was intrigued by Kurt. Because before he just thought Kurt was kind of a jerk, pushing people away and Blaine was fine with staying away. But then Kurt has proved to be more than a jerk, not spreading rumors about Blaine and looking after his dad.

Blaine watches him around school, in the completely non-stalkerish way possible. It’s not like he follows Kurt anywhere or seeks him out. No, he just aware of him and pays attention when he’s around.  In all of the things Blaine observed, one thing was constant: Kurt is always alone.

Like at lunch, if Kurt could be found in the cafeteria or courtyard at all, he was always tucked off by himself in some edge or corner. No one approached him. In fact, there were those who went out of their way to avoid him

One day at lunch, surrounded by his glee mates who don't seem to have any other friends (the jocks and Cheerios occasionally associate with their sort, but are much more leeched onto the social circle that is the gleeks) Blaine asks about Kurt.

He says it like this: "So what's the deal with the guy with the pink hair?" like he doesn't know a thing about Kurt, least of all his name, his place of work, and even his father.

Kurt's clearly visible from where they sit. He’s at round lunch table all by himself, earbuds plugged in, picking the crust off a sandwich that must have come from home. Several at Blaine's table glance over at Kurt, and others share knowing glances with each other.

In full Irish lilt, Rory breaks the silence to say, "He's kind of scary." Seeing as Rory is as new as Blaine to this school, it wasn't that helpful.

"But isn't it true he was in juvie one time?" Finn asks of the group.

Puck jumps in to say, "I heard he drove a car through the front of convenience store and tried to drive away with the ATM."

Quinn pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs in irritation. "No, Puck, that was you."

"I heard he lit someone on fire?" Tina says, glancing around the group to learn what they know.

"No, no, he broke someone's arm, the end of freshman year," Artie amends.

The group spends the next several minutes comparing stories and overheard rumors about one pink-haired Kurt Hummel, coming to no conclusion. Throughout the rubble, Mike nudges Blaine to get his attention, and tells him in an undertone, "I think the point here is that he's bad news."

Ditzy as ever, Brittany announces into the air as she twirls her hair, "We can always ask the internet."

The group silences. Santana speaks up as interpreter. "Weasel ben Israel’s blog."

Nearly everyone at the table makes a disgusted face.

“Who’s… Weasel ben Israel?” Blaine asks tentatively.

Rachel speaks up for everyone at the table, “His real name’s Jacob ben Israel, but he is indeed a pervy little weasel who posts everyone’s personal business on his blog.”

“You’ve probably seen him around,” Santana says, leaning back in her chair. “Little Jewfro running around with a camera.”

The description’s very precise, and instantly Blaine comes aware of such a classmate he’s noticed in his peripheral of his attention as his focus has been on getting integrated into a new school and Kurt. Blaine might know where to go, now, to find what he longs to know.

…

Jacob’s blog is easy enough to find with a little googling, given all the information Blaine has on the kid – like his name, and hometown, and high school. The kid seems awfully proud of his website, making no attempts to remain anonymous. He’s also, Blaine learns with a first perusal of the feed, a bit obsessed with the glee club and even more Rachel Berry. Poor girl.

Jacob’s blog has an internal search bar, and Blaine types in Kurt’s name. The first result is titled “Kurt Hummel: the Actual Antichrist?” and is dated for sometime over the summer. (This makes Blaine suspect that Jacob was running desperate for ideas over summer break.) Blaine pursues this article to see if it contains any relevant information. It doesn’t.

A lot of the hits for ‘Kurt Hummel’ received are tertiary, him mentioned in passing in blog posts about other things. About two-third down the first page Blaine finds a post entitled “Actual Crimes Committed by Kurt Hummel” that tempts to be promising, although Jacob ben Israel has been proving to be a sensationalist headline writer.

The blog post is in list format, the first bullet point reading “destruction of property” accompanied by a video link. Blaine clicks the play arrow to get a sixteen second clip of shaky cam footage starring Kurt stalking towards Jacob (invisible, holding the camera, voice heard) in the McKinley hallways.

“Hey, what are you –,” sqawks Jacob’s voice as Kurt’s hand reaches out, covering the lens. Next thing there is a crash. The video cuts off. It’s obvious that the camera got slammed to the floor.  

The next several bullet points were more comedic, disparaging fairs about Kurt’s appearance, his clothes, his assumed sexuality. The bottom bullet is where it gets interesting, reading, “And not to forget Hummel’s first known foray into the criminal lifestyle, assault and battery.” _Assault and battery_ are hyperlinked.

Blaine clicks the link and is led through to a post dated a few years back.

“Dear readers, remember Kurt Hummel? Probably not, because he’s less than zero on the McKinley High scale of importance. But maybe you’re familiar with none other than the shrimpy, effeminate freshman who has been lurking around the hallways, being locker slammed out of the way? That’s Kurt Hummel.

So you’re probably wondering, what is so important about this nobody? Recall Ted Cranson’s mysterious hand injury, where he showed up Monday with no less than four finger splints on his right hand. Ted’s current story is that he broke his fingers catching a falling tree over his head. However, my secret sources indicate that none other than dweepy, gay-ish Kurt Hummel is the responsible perpetrator of this. More details as this story develops.

But what we can take from this, is that only someone truly sadistic, criminal, and – dare I say it – death-seeking, would enact such violence on our quarterback such months before he was to go to college on a football scholarship.”

Blaine searches around the blog site for the “more details” Jacob had promised, but to no avail. It seems like his glee friends rumors of broken arms and fire lighting were a bit exaggerated, but broken fingers is nothing small. Maybe it was best Blaine took this as a sign and kept his distance. He wasn’t looking to repeat being the victim of physical violence.

…

Next morning, Mercedes sidles up to Blaine while he’s still busy in his locker.

“Blaine, can I talk to you?” she asks, binder clutched tight to her chest, sounding more meek than Blaine had ever witnessed her.

“Sure, what’s up?”

“In the choir room,” she says, an added precaution, and honestly it was a bit loud to talk in a pre-homeroom morning hallway. She leans in. “It’s about Kurt.”

It’s an instant hook for Blaine, even though he would have went with Mercedes without further details.

In the choir room, Mercedes paces the front of the room as Blaine settles into a chair in the first row.

“You know,” she says, pausing in front of the white board, “Freshman year, Kurt and I were friends. We weren’t super close, but we got along, went to the mall a few times, talked about clothes… He dressed differently back then. He was completely different back then.” She drops her head. Blaine scoots forward in his chair, sitting on the edge. He waits, knowing Mercedes will continue in her own time.

“We drifted apart later in the year. My fault. I was trying out all these different clubs, trying to my find my place here. That was before glee. I still talked to him in class…” She shrugs.

“I don’t know why you’re telling me all this,” Blaine says, slowly and carefully, although he sort of does know.

She plops her binder down on the closed piano top, and it resounds in the empty room. “No one asks about Kurt. Everyone has their stories, the rumors, the gossip. But you asked, so I thought I’d give you a more complete answer than the one you were getting yesterday… no one remembers that Kurt Hummel. The one I was friends with freshman year. He was on nobody’s radar until he came back sophomore year different.”

“Different how?” Blaine asks.

Mercedes waves a hand and then drops it. “How you’ve seen him. Taller, meaner, surrounded by rumors. Not the Kurt I had been friends with.” She shrugs again, as if it’s heavy.

“Do you have any idea what happened… to make him change?”

“I told you, we drifted apart. There are a lot of rumors. I don’t know which are true. Maybe the only one that does is Kurt. But there is more to him than those rumors, and at least someone should know that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback is love.


	3. Less Than, More Than

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s more to everyone, Blaine

“Guess who’s going to be the opening performers for this week’s pep rally?” Mr. Schue prompted the glee club. “None other than New Directions!”

There were cheers about the choir room, cheers that thrummed through Blaine’s head well after practice. He had been given his first solo of the year for the performance. It was just the chorus, and he wasn’t the only member of glee club getting a solo during their song, but he was still pleased. While he had come in with a strong and positive mindset, Blaine had to cop to how fearful he had been starting at McKinley. But now, so quickly after the turn of the school year, Blaine had found a place that accepted and celebrated him:  glee club.

Lost in his own head, for the second time in his life, Blaine runs  _literally_  into Kurt Hummel again.

“How many times do I have to tell you to watch where you’re going, bowtie?” Kurt snaps instantly.

Blaine crouches down to help Kurt collect the books that had been splayed across the floor at their collision.

“You’re here late,” Blaine comments, all polite small talk, as he hands over a textbook. Kurt’s scrambling to collect his loose papers.

“Detention. Apparently telling a facility member to fuck off is frowned upon in this school.”

“Oh,” Blaine says, a little shocked at his bluntness.

“Whatever,” Kurt pulls all his books into his arms and stands, heading away without a thank you or any other gesture. Blaine stands and starts on his way too.

Kurt pauses and looks over his shoulder. “You following me, bowtie?”

Blaine gestures down the hall. “This is the way to the parking lot.”

Kurt growls deep in his throat, turns front sharply, and keeps walking, but faster now. Blaine takes his time, not rushing to catch up. He catches up anyway, however, where Kurt stands on the front stoop of the school building.

“Waiting for your ride?” Blaine asks conversationally.

“Walking is as good as any.”

“It’s about to rain.” Blaine points at the overcast sky.

“I don’t melt,” Kurt retorts blandly.

Blaine shifts the weight between his feet. “I could give you a ride,” he offers. “I have my Mom’s car today…”

Kurt gives him a disparaging look, face squinted in a distasteful glower. “Fuck off.” With that, Kurt steps off the stoop and starts stomping off across the parking lot.

Blaine raises his hands in defense although Kurt’s well away. Blaine sets off toward where he was parked. It’s already drizzling when he steps off the stoop, and turns into a steady batter by the time he gets in his car. It’s only getting heavier.

He pulls out of the parking lot. Not a block down the road, he spots Kurt walking down the sidewalk, books clutched tight to his chest and shoulders hunched against the rain.

Glutton for punishment he is, Blaine pulls over his car right next to Kurt and rolls down the window.

“Sure you don’t want a ride?” Blaine asks carefully, a wincing smile on his face.

Kurt side-eyes him for a moment, but the rain falls faster than Kurt’s resolve. He visibly sighs, then opens the passenger door and slides in.

“Where to?” Blaine asks.

“You remember where the shop is?”

Blaine nods and directs his car back onto the road.

Kurt’s raking his wet hair off his face when he asks, “Why are you doing this? I could a serial killer for all you know.”

“Why’d you take up the offer? I could be a serial killer for all  _you_  know,” Blaine retorts cheerily.

Kurt snorts. “Figures. Knew you were hiding something behind all that hair gel.”

“Just uncontrollable curls.”

“T M I,” Kurt says, and shifts himself to stare out his window exclusively.

Blaine makes the turn from Rodford onto Fifth.

"Blaine…” It might have been the first time Kurt had ever said his proper name. Blaine shifts his hold on the steering wheel in anticipation. “Really, why are you doing this?”

 Blaine licks his lips, a thoughtful pause before answering. “Can’t someone do something nice without a reason?”

 Kurt snorts again, but this time different, more cynical. “No.”

 Blaine throws him a questioning look.

 “At the very least, people pull the good Samaritan act to feel better about themselves.”

He believes he would have made this same offer to quite a few of his classmates, anyone in glee at least. But for Kurt Hummel, who is not is friend, has a semi-certifiable record of breaking enemy fingers, who already turned down the offer once… but has Mercedes sympathy and Blaine’s curiosity.

Blaine knows very well why he’s doing this. He chooses his next words carefully. “Maybe I’m interested in seeing the man behind the curtain.”

“A  _Wizard of Oz_ reference,” Kurt says, “You really are gay.”

“Never denied it.”

"Yeah, well, no one believed me when I did.”

Blaine brakes at a stoplight. That was it, what Kurt said, a snippet of something more, of his past. 

Blaine looks direct over at Kurt like he had been avoiding, keeping his eyes glued on the road. “So you admit there is more to you.”

“There’s more to everyone, Blaine,” Kurt says snidely. “I mean, come on. Look at you.”

“Look at me?”

The light turns green and Blaine eases back onto the gas pedal.

“The bowtie and the parted hair and all the manners…” Kurt leans across the space between them and whispers low and baiting, “What’s that hiding?”

Blaine coughs, deliberately taking time to clear his throat. This wasn’t supposed to be about unraveling him.

Kurt leans back in his seat. “Everyone has something behind the curtain, bowtie, including you. So if you’re doing all this because you think you can solve or fix me, you can go screw yourself.”

“I never meant,” Blaine tries to correct, to explain, but he can’t help but think he a little guilty of Kurt’s accusation.

Kurt’s not done talking. He raises his voice to cut Blaine off. “I’m not a puzzle and I’m not a broken vase. I’m a person, take me or leave me.”

Just then, Blaine pulls into the parking lot outside of the garage. Kurt pushes open the door and gets out quickly, slamming it loudly behind himself. Blaine can only gape, the rain coming down even harder.

…

“Are you okay, Blaine, you look a little pale.” His mom instantly presses her hand to his forehead. He shrugs away.

“Just a long day at school.”

This doesn’t ease his mother’s worries, but amplifies them. “Are… are there any problems with your classmates?” she asks with cautious words.

“No, mom, all the kids at the playground were nice to me.”

“There is no need to take that tone, Blaine Devon.”

Blaine runs a hand over his forehead. “It was just a really long day. I need to get started on my homework.” He kisses his mother on the cheek in apology and excuses himself to his bedroom, but doesn’t get started on his homework. Rather, he starts on a note.

It pours out surprisingly easy:

_I want to take a chance to apologize, and in a note because I don’t really think you want me to talk to you anymore. I’m sorry I offended you and I’m sorry that I crossed any boundaries. You are completely right. You are a person, not a project. I should have never treated you less than that. My only excuse is that coming back to a public school has been a challenge for me considering my previous, not-so-pleasant experiences at my first high school. I find when I think on it, it was easier to focus on you than it was to focus on me in these first few weeks. From now on, I will give you your space and your privacy._

He reads it over and over, thinking of tweaks and scraping them. Wondering if he needed to explain more, his past, but turning that decision over. He wants this to be an apology, not a series of excuse-making. Ultimately, all he does is finish his note off as his signature.

The next day he consults a list housed in the office to learn Kurt’s locker number and slips his note in through one of the slates.  

…

There he is, Kurt Hummel in the front row of the bleachers, legs spread and with a slouched posture. Blaine barely caught sight of hide or hair of Kurt Hummel ever since the car ride, even though that was Monday and now it was Friday.  He had skipped out of every French class this week at the least.

Now, Kurt’s taking up space in a careless-appearing way, like he’s wanting to be seen. It was so easy to make eye contact with him, and wasn’t that a key to great performing. To make it like you are actually singing to someone in the audience?

The music starts, and Blaine’s still looking right at Kurt. Kurt looks up from picking at his nails to the stage, right to Blaine staring.  

Blaine forced to look away when the choreography demands him to move, the group harmonizing the opening together. Then at the turn of the verse to chorus, Blaine gets his solo. He plants his feet center stage front and glances over to find Kurt still slouched and staring.

Their eyes catch. Blaine takes a breath in time, waiting for the music to catch up with the quick beating of his heart. When it does, he begins to sing – loud, clear, melodic. He loves the feelings, physical and emotional, that flow through him when he gets to sing like this. It’s simultaneously u unadulterated and for a crowd.

While he rolls through his lyrics, Blaine tries to glance away from Kurt. He manages to, for a few seconds, focusing here or there or elsewhere in the audience. But his gaze continually slung shot back to Kurt. As far as Blaine could tell, Kurt hadn’t looked away from him either. Kurt was always looking back when Blaine was.

With his solo finished, Blaine has to unglue his feet from the stage to keep moving, switching out for another to take his place to sing. He’s forced to look away from Kurt. When the song ends, Blaine gets in his pose, finally allowed to look for Kurt again. However, Kurt’s spot in the bleachers is now empty.

They receive moderate applause, and Blaine’s too distracted to truly gage it. He receives plenty of pats on the back, half-hugs, and high fives, which he receives and returns automatically.

“You were awesome, dude,” said Puck, or Mike, or Finn. Blaine’s not paying enough attention to be sure.

…

No one warned Blaine about the slushies. He learned later from Tina that was a normal thing that happened around their school, as an act of keeping the order of popularity. Nearly everyone in the glee club had been slushied, although this might have been the first slushie of the school year. The performance at the pep rally must have put the glee club back on the worse side of the jock’s radar.

Blaine’s first encounter with a slushy went like this:

He's chatting in the hallway with Tina between classes.  A letter jacketed jock is lurking done the hall with a double gulp-sized slushy in hand doesn't even register in Blaine’s mind. Tina notices, though, her eyes going wide.

"Oh man, I hoped that died last year."

"What?" Blaine asks, looking around for some sort of clue as to what is going on.

Tina grips his arm, already wincing, "It's too late to run. Brace for impact."

Just then, who other than Kurt Hummel swoops down the hall in the opposite direction, students moving out of his way in almost equal amounts to the jock with the slushy. As he passes said jock, his arm slashes out ninja quick and he slaps the bottom of the slushy cup. The bright red slushy hits the jocks under the chin and splashes all down his front, puddling on the floor. There are gasps and muffled titters all around.

"What the hell!" yells the jock at Kurt as Kurt continues on his way without the slightest hesitance in his step.

Kurt turns on his heel to swiftly reply, "Oops, I slipped," with a shrug before spinning front-forward again, and sauntering down the hall.

…

Blaine’s waiting for French class to start, at his desk early. His previous class was let out a few minutes before the bell, and he made good time. He doesn’t have any glee friends in this class, so he attends to himself as there is a flurry of activity amongst much of the rest of the already class. When someone takes the seat next to him, he doesn’t notice right away.

A throat clears.  Blaine looks after the sound to find Kurt, pierced eyebrow raised pose-like.

“Hey,” Blaine says unsure.

“Hey,” Kurt responds, flicking at a lose strand of pink hair over his forehead. “Nice song.”

“Thanks…”

“You branded yourself, though. No one knew that you were a part of the geekiest club at McKinley until the prep rally. You’re going to have dodge the rest of the slushies yourself.

Blaine lets out a chuckle even though that compliment also carried some insults. “So… can I ask why you stopped the first one for me?”

Kurt bites the tip of his tongue and his eyes flicks in contemplation as he realizes that he did indeed imply his slushy-actions had been for Blaine. “Well, let’s just say you did me a solid with the ride and I did you a solid in return.”

“Even though you were mad at me?” Blaine asks, head cocked.

The corner of Kurt’s mouth tinges up. He looks more attractive than Blaine ever seen him. It’s a not a thought that is so scary to Blaine right now.

“Apology accepted,” Kurt says.

Blaine almost sputters but regains himself before he does. “Really?”

“Most people don’t even try to apologize, just make excuses for their behavior. But you actually meant it,” Kurt says. “I figured I could forgive you for  _thinking_  too much about me.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” Blaine says, not sure what it is appropriate to say after an apology being accepted.

“And I figured I might not have been  _completely_  in the right. I wasn’t quite treating you like a person either.”

“What were you treating me like?” Blaine asked.

Kurt rolls his head back before answering, “An obstacle.”

They didn’t get to say anymore, for then Mrs. Boggart bangs on the front desk to gain the class’s attention.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like this chapter was a little rougher, writing-wise, but ultimately, I think it works. Anyway, a note from me about updating. I have written a few chapters in advance and I hope to update at least once a week. For the chapters I have not written, I do have a plan. So hopefully I will be able to keep up with that pace.


	4. Pillow Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't look at me like that"  
> "Like what?"  
> "Like _that_.

**Chapter 4**

Blaine couldn't say that he and Kurt were now friends, after what happened, but the level of animosity Kurt had held towards him had certainly dropped off. Kurt had even taken to sitting next to Blaine fairly regularly in French, as Blaine was, in Kurt's words, "the least insufferable person in this class."

Blaine's content to let things slide along the way they were going. Easy, non-confrontational, and minimal. No depth and no interaction more than the school schedule demands. But Blaine had promised respect and privacy, so he swore himself to no more prying questions or prying eyes. He could live with that amicability.

He lets it go this way for a week or two, but then he spies Kurt sitting in the courtyard on one of the large cement steps in a swatch of sunlight, alone like always. His eyes are closed, earbuds in. He’s mouthing silently along to words Blaine can’t understand.

Moved by boldness, Blaine starts toward Kurt rather than where the Glee club is stuffed around a table on the opposite side of the courtyard.

He tentatively sits an arm’s length away from Kurt and peeps up a small “hey.” He is unheard.

Blaine reaches out and gently plucks one of the earbuds out of Kurt’s ear. Kurt jerks in an instinctive reaction, but calms when he identifies Blaine as the perpetrator. Blaine’s gives an awkward, apologetic grin as Kurt’s expression resolves into unimpressed.

“You want something?” Kurt asks, Blaine getting the impression he was the only person in school who could have performed such an invasion of Kurt’s space and not have gotten punched for it.

 He had just aimed to get Kurt’s attention, but he could make out a familiar tune buzzing out from the exposed earbud, and what he hears is not at all what he expects.

“You’re listening to _Wicked_?” Blaine asks with disbelief.

Kurt fumbles with his iPod, pausing the song, shutting off the sound.

“What did you expect — Finnish death metal?” Kurt shoots back.

Blaine shrugs a shoulder, because sorta. “Not musical theater.”

“I’m not a box,” Kurt says, puffing up with importance. “There are more than four sides to me.”

Blaine can literally feel his eyebrows squinting down over his eyes as he contemplates what was just said. “A box has six sides.”

Kurt’s self-righteousness deflates. “What?” he asks, blunt.

“You said you weren’t a box and there were more than four sides to you… but a box has six sides because it’s three-dimensional.”

Over the course of Blaine’s statement, Kurt’s enter confident demeanor shrunk away. “Oh my god,” he says, putting a hand over his mouth.

“I’m sure you meant square…” Blaine says in an attempt to comfort him.

“You don’t understand,” Kurt says. “I’m been saying that for years. _Years._ How many people have I sounded like an idiot to?”

“If I was the first person to correct you, I was probably the first person to notice,  
 Blaine starts to say, but then, “Kurt, are you blushing?”

Kurt immediately hides his face in his hands.

“Are you embarrassed about being embarrassed?” Blaine asks incredulously.

Kurt shakes his hidden head ‘no’ but squeak-whispers out, “has anyone noticed?”

Blaine takes a few glances around the courtyard and can fairly confidently say that they are being completely ignored.

A few moments later, Kurt resurfaces, only the barest pink in the face, like he had been touched with sunburn. Blaine has to think with skin that pale, sunburn is probably something that happens to Kurt a lot. Then Blaine has to remind himself to not think in so much detail about Kurt’s skin.

Kurt glares around the courtyard, maybe searching for any observer Blaine missed. Satisfied, he tilts his head back to Blaine.

“Really, did you want something?” he says coolly.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed in front of me, okay?” Blaine says, not really answering Kurt’s question. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone you sing along to _Wicked_ and think boxes have four sides. In fact, I think it’s kind of adorable.”

Blaine wants to punch himself. How in the hell did he let _that_ slip.

Kurt’s quiet for a moment before responding.  “I don’t want to be adorable.” He puts his stray earbud back in. “Adorable gets you…” He finishes off with a muttered, “tossed into dumpsters.”

Blaine sits there, ignored, as Kurt restarts his music and focuses on his lunch with an unrealistic amount of attention.

He lets this go for a minute, then two, before tapping Kurt on the arm. To Kurt’s credit, he pauses his music, if not taking out his earbuds.

“What I’m here for is that… I thought that you might want so company. You’re always alone at lunch…” He purses his lips, forcing himself to say no more.

Kurt blinks slowly. “I’ve done the alone thing for a long time now, bowtie. I think I can handle another lunch period.”

“But…” Blaine shrugs a single shoulder. “You don’t need to, today, if you don’t want to.”

Again, Kurt’s quiet for a while before he responds. “If you decide to sit there and eat your lunch… I won’t move from where I’m already sitting and eating my lunch.”

Blaine grins. “That’s the most roundabout way of saying ‘why not’ that I’ve ever heard.”

Kurt’s eyes narrow. “I never said we were going to converse,” he says, before turning his music back on.

…            

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can do whatever the hell you want. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

“Can you ever answer a yes-no question with yes or no?”

Kurt’s eyes flash, bright and teasing. “Yes.”

Blaine snorts at the answer, ducks his head, and before asking, “What did you mean when you called me an obstacle.”

Kurt picks at the skin of apple with his thumb nail. Another shared lunchtime, two days running, back to back. This time Kurt didn’t have his iPod plugged in his ears. (“Forgot to charge it” is Kurt’s explanation.)

 “I told you I was wrong to think of you like that,” Kurt says

“I know. But what does it _mean_?”

Kurt’s jaw tenses and Blaine’s now familiar enough to know this is a ‘thinking before you speak’ gesture of Kurt’s. Blaine busies himself with his own bag lunch as he waits for Kurt to speak. It’s best not to press, he learns. A question like that is one Blaine can rarely risk, but things have been going so smoothly, and he dares now.  

“It means exactly what the word _obstacle_ means. You were just another thing in the way, like everyone else in this town. The idiot teachers in this school that don’t prepare you for college or life. The assholes here that call themselves students. Homophobes everywhere.”

“And where did I fit into all of that?”

“Meddling do-gooder, one of the Miss Pillsburys of the world.”

“Meddling do-gooder?” Blaine questions. “You sound like a Scooby-Doo villain.”

Kurt whacks Blaine on the shoulder, but it’s all playful. Blaine can swear that his skin at the contact point is tingling well later, but when he undresses that evening, there was no visible mark left behind.

…                            

“So what’s the deal with you and Hummel?” asks Santana, loudly, in front of everyone (read: New Directions) when Mr. Schue’s running late (read: so far absent) from glee practice.

“Excuse me?” Blaine says, because his mother raised him to be a gentleman after all.

“You do talk to him a lot,” Tina says. “Like, more than anyone else in this school talks to him.”

“Yo,” Artie agrees.

Blaine glances Mercedes’ way, where she is tight-mouthed and looks uncomfortable.

“Don’t think we don’t notice who you each lunch with when you don’t eat it with us,” Santana says, flicking her long ponytail over her shoulder.

“It’s because he’s hot for him,” says Puck from the top row. Everyone turns to stare at him. “What? It’s obvious.”

Santana looks viciously happy with this turn of events sparked up her comments.

“Is this true, Blaine?” Rachel asks. “Because I can truly say that I feel that Kurt Hummel will be nothing but a drain on your talents, which should be focused on Sectionals.”

“There is nothing happening between me and Kurt,” Blaine says diplomatically.

“But you want it to be,” Puck pipes up, again to everyone’s stares.

Blaine’s never been more thankfully for Mr. Schue’s arrival and their weekly themed lesson.

...

It stings, which Blaine hadn’t expected. Why would a mixture of ice, sugar, food coloring sting so much?

In that moment, there’s nothing better than reaching the relief of the bathroom sink and being able to flush the remaining slushy out of his eyes. But that still leaves his hair, his clothes, every else on his body, which is now sticky, wet, and cold.

“Here,” a voice states, and Blaine starts until his brain catches up, recognizing it. Kurt’s standing next to him, holding out a dry towel. “I stole it from the locker room. It’s clean.”

Blaine takes it with a quiet thanks. He rubs it over his face first, then his hair. He hears Kurt snort.

“You weren’t lying about the uncontrollable curls.”

Blaine looks at himself in the mirror, face tinged artificial red and hair damp and curling in some areas and completely frizzed in others. He hasn’t had a chance to pat dry the rest of him. A puddle is forming on the floor at his feet.

He plucks at the shirt sticking to his stomach. “This isn’t coming out, is it?”

“Not without some Tide,” Kurt says, leaning against the far sink, well away from where he could get stained by accidental interaction with Blaine.

“I can’t go through the rest of the day like this,” Blaine says, kind of desperately.

“Do you have any spare clothes with you at school?”

“No. Why would I?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt crosses his arms. “Gym cloths... something in your car.”

“I didn’t drive to school today,” Blaine says, then the meaning of this hits him. His mom is picking up today. His mom would see him like this, demand explanation. There was no way to hide this.

Blaine rings his finger through his already messy hair. “God, my mom is going to freak out.”

“Hates stains?” Kurt guesses, nose wrinkled.

Blaine looks up at his reflection in the mirror rather than directly at Kurt. “She’ll think its bullying.”

Kurt shrugs. “It kind of is.”

“Yeah, but this is just glee club stuff. She’ll just think it’s directed particularly at me, for being gay. She’ll think this school isn’t safe.”

Kurt scoffs, sounding loud in the bathroom that is empty except for the two of them. “It isn’t.”

“Well, getting three cherry slushies dumped on me is a lot safer than what happened at my old school.”

Kurt’s quiet for a moment. “Look, I have a car here today. I could drive you to your house so you can get a change of clothes. You’ll miss a class or two, but you’re already doing that. Hell, might as well skip the rest of the day.”

“You would do that for me?” Blaine’s dumbfounded, and that’s clear in his expression and his tone.

Kurt shrugs a single shoulder as he’s leaned back against the empty paper towel dispenser. “Have to pay you back for that ride after all.”

“Didn’t you do that by deflecting that first slushy?” He wraps the towel around his shoulders like a blanket.

“Well,” Kurt tilts his head, considering, “We can see how that backfired, because they came back with triple the force on you because they wouldn’t dare do it to me.”

Without thinking, Blaine says, “Because they’re afraid you’ll break their hands?”

A calculating expression darts over Kurt’s face.

“…Are you afraid of me, bowtie?”

“No.”

“Do you think that’s wise?”

Looking Kurt straight in the eyes, Blaine answers, “I haven’t decided yet.”           

Kurt smirks at that reply, more to himself than to Blaine. He contemplates the tile floor for a moment, rubbing his heel against a smudge, before looking back up. “So, you taking me up on the ride or what?”

“My mom works from home. She’s either going to see me now, or see me later…” Blaine says, resigned. He can just picture his mother pulling him out of school after this in a gross overreaction, shipping him back to Dalton. Not that he had anything against Dalton, for it was at Dalton where he learned to breathe easy again, learned confidence, learned to accept himself in an accepting environment. Dalton is what Blaine needed last year. It’s not what he needed now.

“Come to my house,” Blaine hears Kurt say, his words slicing through the cloud of Blaine’s predicament hovering over his head.

“Excuse me?”

“You can shower, throw your clothes in the laundry, and I’m sure I have some clothes you can borrow, … temporarily.”

“You… why?” Blaine asks, perplexed.

Kurt shifts weight between his feet. “This offer literally expires in the next three seconds. Yes or no?”

“Yes!” Blaine says quickly, before the offer can be rescinded.

…

Kurt drives Blaine to his house in a sleek, black Lincoln Navigator, all while assuring Blaine that the teachers at McKinley were too unobservant to notice them missing.

“Wouldn’t want to tarnish you’re probably glowing record, after all,” Kurt says.

Kurt’s house is small and cozy-sized. Going in the front door, briefly glancing around the living area as Kurt leads him up a length of carpeted steps, all Blaine can say is the house looks lived in, and that is only meant as a compliment.

Kurt pushes open a white door in the upstairs hallway. “This is the bathroom… I’ll get you some spare clothes…”

Kurt’s quiet as he slips down the hall. It’s weird for both of them, Blaine being in Kurt’s house. Blaine has to wonder if he’s the first of Kurt’s classmates to ever breach the front door.

 To try and make it less awkward, Blaine purposely goes about not trying to overanalyze anything in the bathroom. He refuses to snoop in the medicine cabinet or under the sink. Instead, he starts the water in the shower and strips out of his sticky clothes. He purposely does not think if the soap and shampoo he uses are the same Kurt uses, or try to memorize its smell, or wonder if Kurt smells like this.

Blaine likes the leisure of a long shower, but at someone’s charity, he keeps this one short. He turns of the water, climbs out, and begins drying himself with a towel from the rack (much fluffier than the school towel).

There’s a knock on the door, and Kurt’s clear voice. “I have some clothes if you’re done.”

Blaine wraps the towel around his hips and opens the door halfway, peaking his neck around it. He doesn’t need to stand brazenly and completely in front of Kurt shirtless. And from the pink on Kurt’s face when Blaine does open the door, Blaine guesses Kurt is of the same opinion.

Kurt visible gulps as he hands over the clothes: A gray t-shirt with a screen-printed design over the front and a pair of jeans.

“Thanks,” Blaine says, taking the clothes carefully yet quickly from Kurt’s out held.

“And I can take you slushy clothes and throw them in the washer.” Why was everything so tense? Kurt paying him a favor shouldn’t be so complicated.

Blaine doesn’t express any of this, though. Rather, he quickly collects his pile of dirty clothes, wrapping them in the less wet and less sticky school towel, and hands them off to Kurt.

Kurt’s jeans are too long for him, but Blaine just rolls up the cuffs to compensate. The t-shirt’s a bit bigger fitting than Blaine would wear, but he thinks it would be a bit big for what Kurt usually wears as well. (Not that Blaine’s been paying that much attention, except he’s totally been paying that much attention.)

He takes a few extra minutes to dry his hair, but there is nothing to do for the frizzy-ness of it. Blaine steps out into the hall and is immediately greeted with a snort. “Your clothes are in the washing machine now, Borat.”

Blaine grimaces. “Can we go back to _bowtie._ ”

“Like that’s an improvement?”

Blaine shrugs. “So… Now we wait…” That was the most awkward thing to say, for it brought with it a resounding silence, so silent it was almost loud. Blaine could hear the rumble of the washing machine, probably located on the floor below.

“You hungry?” Kurt asks.

“We just got out of lunch,” Blaine says. Well, he’s assuming Kurt got out of lunch. It was one of those days were Kurt had been invisible, until he showed up as the savior in bathroom.

Kurt huffs a sigh through his nose. “Well, let’s wait somewhere more comfortable than the hallway.”

Blaine expects Kurt’s room to be more raw or edgy than the rest of the house. Instead Blaine discovers a tidy room done up in neutral colors. There are framed Broadway posters for _Wicked_ , _Chicago,_ and _The Boy From Oz_ on his walls, as well as one of a shirtless Taylor Lautner.  

Kurt tugs of the beanie that hung off the back of his head and riffled a hand through his hat hair to fix it. Repressing the urge to ask to touch it, Blaine says instead, “Can I ask you something – Why pink?”

“Because it’s a big F you to gender norms,” Kurt says with a roll of the eyes.

“And the piercings?”

Kurt’s tongue flicks out and over his lip ring unconsciously. “They’re just for fun.”

Blaine’s unable to look away from Kurt’s mouth and the lip ring adorning it.

“What?” Kurt interrupts, brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” Blaine says, turning himself away, examining the top of Kurt’s dresser, the nearest thing to examine. Amongst the modern style collection of things, like the chrome ampersand bookends, was something out of place. A Victorian-patterned, fabric covered box just familiar enough for Blaine to recognize as a jewelry box.

“It was my mother’s,” Kurt says, coming to stand next to Blaine, his arms wrapped around himself, each hand gripping the opposite elbow.

“Was?”

“She’s dead,” Kurt says rather bluntly, followed quickly with, “Don’t you dare say you’re fucking sorry. I can’t stand it when people say that.”

“Okay,” Blaine says quietly, “I won’t say it.”

After a pause, Kurt tsks and shoulders him. “But you’re thinking it, aren’t you, you asshole.”

The washer finishes its cycle and Kurt goes down stairs to move Blaine’s clothes over to the dryer. As he does, Blaine sits tentatively down on the edge of Kurt’s bed.

“Making yourself comfortable, I see.”

Blaine immediately pops up to his feet.

Kurt slams his bedroom door behind himself. “Oh, sit down, bowtie. It was a joke.”

Kurt rounds the bed and lies down on the other side, stretching himself out over the covers. Blaine stares down at him. Kurt rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Christ, this is weird. I can’t believe _you_ , of all people, is in my room.”

“Me, of all people?” Blaine questions.

Kurt answers, but not the question Blaine asked. “It will take at least thirty minutes for your clothes to dry. Get comfy.”

Blaine sits back down on the bed, but then dares to go farther, lying down himself, turning on his side to face Kurt.

Kurt’s still lying on his back, but he turns his head to peer at Blaine. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting comfy,” Blaine responds.

Kurt gaps at Blaine momentarily before scoffing. “Shit. You got balls, bowtie.”

They lay silently for a while. Kurt closes his eyes like he’s napping, but his breathing never grows slow enough for it to be true. Sometime he shifts on the bed into a more comfortable position, coincidently also on his side, and facing Blaine. Their faces are only inches apart.

Blaine clears his throat, and Kurt’s eyes blink open. They were so blue, but not just blue. You rarely get to see someone’s eyes up close, but when you did, it was always astounding, the layers of color in them.

“So… what should we talk about to pass the time?” Blaine says.

“Not about me. You’ve already learned too much about me today.”

“Sorry for compromising your secret identity.”

“Why can’t we lay here and relax?” Phrased as a question but clearly a command.

They settle in, Kurt closing his eyes again. Blaine tries, but his eyelids keep drifting open, focusing hard on Kurt’s nearby face, examining in detail. Kurt must feel Blaine’s stare somehow, because his eyes pop open, first the left than the right. His expression reads inquisitive. For a moment, they stare together.

Kurt presses the side of his face into the pillow. "Stop looking at me like that."

Blaine can't see but feels the spread of his grin. "Like what?"

Kurt grumbles, shifts, buries his face further in the pillow, then peers up carefully through his lashes back at Blaine's face.

 "Like  _that_ ," Kurt says again.

 "So descriptive," Blaine teases.

 "I will kick you out of my house," Kurt threatens, but there’s nothing threatening about it.

“You won’t,” Blaine replies.

Kurt takes an uneven breath. “Blaine…”

“Yes?”

Kurt snorts into his pillow, huffing in a way that could be laughter or sobs. When his face is visible again, though, there are no tears.

“I didn’t wake up this morning expecting to have a boy in my bed later today,” Kurt says as a joke, and Blaine’s sure that’s not what he originally had in his mind.

“Don’t over think it,” Blaine says, because he can see Kurt’s gears turning, his body only a fake relaxed.

During Kurt’s laughter, his hand landed flat on the space of the mattress between them and it lay there still now.

 It’s too tempting of a chance for Blaine to overlook, so he slowly slides his free hand up the mattress, like he was afraid to startle a wild animal. His pinkie brushes Kurt’s wrist; Kurt blinks at what he must presume is accidental contact. The misconception is quickly correctly as Blaine lightly settles his hand on top of Kurt’s.

“Don’t over think it,” Blaine whispers again as Kurt’s chews nervously on his bottom lip. Kurt doesn’t pull away, doesn’t say a thing, and Blaine watches for discomfort for a full minute before moving again, moving his fingers into the space between Kurt’s and curling them under.

A half a minute later, Kurt curls his fingers too, capturing Blaine’s. Blaine feels his heart pounding, and butterflies, and fireworks, the whole lot.

Kurt just says to him, with all the attitude in the world, “Don’t over think it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the scene that I imagined/dreamed up that made me need to, yearn to, write this fic. And I think it turned out really well. Dare you to guess what scene it is. Basically, I love this chapter, but I admit to full bias. I hope you like it to.


	5. Under the Bleachers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of these days, I might just kiss you.

Maybe, the sound of a slamming door brushed their unconsciousness, but it was the deep, frustrated voice starting to say "Kurt, did you skip--" then abruptly ending that woke them.

Kurt's awake and sitting up in bed before Blaine can blink the bleariness out of his eyes. When did they fall asleep? What time was it now?

Kurt's swearing repeatedly under his breath, a collage of _shits_ and _fucks_ with a few other choice adjectives mixed in.

"What's going on?" Blaine asks. He remembers a voice, not his or Kurt's, but his mind is still half-out of it from the swift wake up call.

"My dad just walked in on us...," he trails off, not exactly finding the word to describe what they were doing. Kurt scowls at the wall, not looking at Blaine. Like this is Blaine's fault. He checks the time. "And it's only two, so he knows we were playing hookie... must’ve come home early..."

"I thought you said we wouldn't get caught?" Blaine says, a little anxious now.

"I said the teachers wouldn't notice we were missing. Observant parents are another issue. On the upside, your clothes are dry by now."

The reality of the situation began to weight down on Blaine. Kurt's dad had just discovered Kurt and Blaine in bed together (while they were supposed to be in school). "Nothing happened," Blaine says.

"Of course nothing happened," Kurt says, giving Blaine a look of disgust, which makes Blaine have to wonder _what_  did just happen. Because they were kinda holding hands before they fell asleep, now Kurt seems to hate him again. One step forward, two steps back.

"Get out of my bed," Kurt snaps, and Blaine scrambles to do so. Kurt seems to sag and then refortify himself at the crest of going through his door, to face the music, per se.  

 Blaine tries to straighten himself out, but nothing will hide his wild hair or the fact he is wearing Kurt’s borrowed clothes.

Kurt says to him, “We’re going downstairs. Stay at least two steps behind me.” Blaine follows the direction exactly.

Kurt enters his kitchen, arms crossed. Kurt’s father has one hand busy with a beer and the other pinching at the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

“Dad?” Kurt voice, almost blasé, arms crossed over his chest in a performance of defiance. “It’s not what it looked like.”

“What it looked like was that there was a boy in your bed,” Burt says. Blaine shifts weight between his feet and stays silent. He thinks Kurt wants him to stay silent.

"Oh, yes, Dad we were totally having sex,” Kurt snarks, and Blaine wants nothing more than for Kurt to shut up. “Completely clothed on top of my neatly made bed, with nary a drop of bodily fluids anywhere."

"Kurt --”

Blaine couldn't tell if Burt sounded irritated, or if Kurt had out-embarrassed him.

“You want to know what happened?” Kurt demands, it hardly a question. “You want to know?”

“Kurt –” Burt starts again, showing his worn out side.

“’Cause I’ll tell you. This loser,” Kurt points over his shoulder at Blaine and Blaine can barely muster the energy to feel offended. “Got slushied at school. I know you know what that is… And Miss Pillsbury has been on my back to be nicer to people, so I offered to let him come here and get a shower and wash his clothes.”

Burt raises an eyebrow. “And how did he end up in your bed with you?”

This part of the story had not yet been covered. “Emotional, high school drama takes it out of a person.”

Burt looks disbelieving. Blaine can’t see Kurt’s face, but can imagine it parroting a false innocent expression. He decides it’s his time to speak.

“Kurt’s account is actually completely true, sir.”

Burt gives Blaine a ‘stop sucking up look’ probably not knowing that this was Blaine’s default nature.

“I recognize you,” Burt says, though it’s asked as a question.

“I’ve brought my mom’s car to your show before.”

Burt contemplates this for a moment, then remembrance hit him. “Your name, son?”

“Blaine, sir. Blaine Anderson.”

“Are you gay, Blaine?” Burt asks.

“Dad!” Kurt says, scandalized.

“I am,” Blaine answers steady. He’s seen enough to know this was a dangerous place to admit it. “Out and proud.”

Steady, Burt counters. “And you were in bed with my son.”

“Nothing happened,” Blaine assures.

“So I’ve heard,” Burt says dryly.

“I mean,” Blaine says. “We held hands, if that’s what you’re talking about.”

Kurt puts hands over his face, obviously embarrassed. But it’s enough, enough to get Burt to stop internally freaking out. Because what is ultimately embarrassing his son is not the talk of sex, but the talk of innocent intimacy.

“Blaine, is it?” Burt directs toward Blaine, still standing awkwardly in the corner. “I think you should be heading home.”

“Umm,” Blaine starts.

Kurt finishes the thought. “He needs a ride.”

“And my clothes out of the dryer,” Blaine adds, before it can be forgotten.

Burt waves a hand. “Get your clothes, get changed, then I’ll drive you home.”

“I can drive him,” Kurt protests suddenly and on the edge of passionate. It surprises Blaine, considering how standoffish Kurt had been since they woke up. Perhaps Kurt just wanted to avoid Blaine letting out any more embarrassing tidbits.

“No, Kurt, you can’t. Because you’re grounded and losing all car privileges for skipping school again.”

“How is that even supposed to work?”

“I’ll drive you to school and I’ll pick you up in the afternoon and bring you back to the shop to do your homework in my office until it’s time for me to come home, just like when you were a kid.”

“Oh my God!” Kurt says before storming off up the stairs with heavy footsteps. This leaves just Burt and Blaine in the kitchen.

Blaine points down the hall and asks awkwardly, “Laundry room’s that way?”

…

Maybe halfway to his home, Burt asks of Blaine, “What exactly are your intensions with my son?”

Blaine gulps and then answers, with all honestly he’s even surprised with himself for, “I would like to hold his hand again sometime.”

“You know Kurt’s had a hard time of it in high school…” Burt says.

“I’m new this year,” Blaine says.

“Well, he has,” Burt says. “And he doesn’t need anyone to add anymore problems to it. So if you’re interested in him because you think it’s going to be easy or fun or that’s he’s a conquest, and you’re gonna ditch him when the first hitch occurs… just leave him alone now.”

“No offense, sir, but I’ve already dealt with about fifteen hitches just trying to talk to Kurt a few times.”

Burt snorts a single snort of laughter, hands tugging up on the steering wheel as he takes a turn. “Yeah, that’s Kurt. He’s pissed off at everything. Not that he doesn’t have some good reasons.”

Blaine doesn’t know what exactly Burt is referencing, but he knows enough of his own experiences of being gay in small town Ohio – the name calling and the feel of fists – to suppose.

“I don’t want to toy around with him, sir,” Blaine says.

Burt nods. What Blaine said must have been satisfactory.

…

Kurt avoids him most of the next day, until Blaine catches him by accident in the hallway.

“It’s your fault I’m grounded and car-less,” Kurt tells him.

Blaine says, “Not to be contrary, but you’re the one who offered all that help to me yesterday, unprompted.”

This shuts Kurt up, although that’s not what Blaine wants at all. He doesn’t want to outwit Kurt, to silence Kurt, or to trick Kurt.

He wants… Blaine’s not sure what he wants. He’s scared to want too much from Kurt, not wanting to pressure anything out of the other boy. Kurt doesn’t exist for Blaine to work out his issues or fantasies.

“You know,” Kurt finally says to him after a long pause. “You’re a real smartass.”

“Maybe when you’re done being grounded we can hang out sometime?” Blaine proposed.

Kurt’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t refuse. “Don’t presume anything,” he says slickly.

Blaine puts his hands up as if proving innocence or swearing an oath. “Nothing presumed.”

…

Over the next two weeks Kurt works through his grounding, his father being surprisingly effective at enforcing it, when all the teachers and staff at McKinley High have a difficult time enforcing anything on Kurt, from detention to class schedules. This limits the two of the them to French class interactions and brief hallway encounters. Blaine doesn’t see Kurt at lunch any of that time. On the positive side, this means that Blaine has had less of a chance to fuck anything up. It’s been smooth, if not substantial, sailing.

Blaine would have tried to sit with Kurt at lunch again, but most of the time Kurt’s nowhere to be found. And the time when he is, Blaine notices him too late, already being roped into an _important glee club discussion._

So, catching Kurt in the hall, right at the beginning of lunch period, Blaine asks, “Where do you go to lunch, when you’re not at lunch?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Blaine feels like there is a trap of wrong answers for this question. Too much interest is prying. Too little, and why would Kurt take the effort to tell.

“Do you want me to know?” Blaine asks back, a challenge and a gamble.

Out of all the wrong things to say, Blaine must have discovered the right one, for Kurt jerks his head to the side in a signal for Blaine to follow.

They work against the flow of students towards one of the back doors. Kurt has an easier time of this than Blaine. Kurt’s much more refined at weaving through people, a skill Blaine got rusty in his year at the less populated and more orderly Dalton. Also, there is a chunk of the student population that just gets out of Kurt’s way. They do not treat Blaine with the same favor.

Kurt waits for Blaine to catch up at the door before moving on, throwing out a teasing “amateur.”

Kurt leads Blaine through the back lot past the corner of the football stadium to a chain link fence. Three yards down the fence, a large bush blocks them. Like it’s nothing, Kurt pushes aside some of the branches and ducks under.

Blaine pauses outside – is this through the rabbit hole?

“You coming?” calls Kurt, teasing.

How could Blaine resist that? He pushes through to an open and shadowed cave of a place.

“What is this?” he asks, looking around.

Kurt bangs a fist on a board over his head. “Old bleachers from before they redid the football stadium. They must’ve forgotten to scrap this stretch years ago and everyone was too stupefied by school bureaucracy to figure out what to do with it. It was forgotten and overgrown… until I found it.” Kurt brushes his fingertips reverently over the place he had just banged. “It’s my hideout.”

“A hideout from what?” Blaine asks, playing with a vine of ivy around his fingers.

Kurt eases down gracefully to sit on the grass-patched dirt, knees drawn up. “Everyone else,” he proposes with a shrug. Blaine continues twisting the ivy, untangling it from its fellows.

“Bullies,” Kurt says.

Blaine drops his eyes to Kurt.

“I was a tiny little kid freshman year. Even shorter than you now.”

“Ha, ha,” Blaine says, but without real ire.

“I was really effeminate – obviously gay. Even more than I am now, when I’ve turned it into a –” Kurt plays with this strange of his pink hair.

“A statement?” Blaine suggests.

“An armor,” Kurt says in amendment. “God, freshman year… I could never drink a slushie again after that year. The thought makes me gag… I stumbled upon this place by accident when I just needed a place to lick my wounds in private, and safely.”

Blaine’s fist tightens and he accidently rips the vine of ivy from its plant.

“I still like it here,” Kurt says. “It’s a quiet, and there’s no one to judge you.” Kurt looks at Blaine like he’s waiting for him to break this haven by judging.

Instead of judging, Blaine kneels on a grassy patch next to Kurt. “Did you know this in my third high school?”

Kurt flicks up an eyebrows, though it reads more genuinely surprised than his usual sarcasm.

“Here,” Blaine says, counting of one of the three. “Last year, Dalton Academy. It’s this fancy prep school in Westerville. We wore these uniforms with navy and red blazers and matching ties –”

“That must have been heaven for you,” Kurt says with a small huff.

“It was nice,” Blaine says. “But it was also…”

“Strict?” Kurt guesses, unsure.

“Sanitized,” Blaine says. “Everyone was just so mannered and nice all the time.”

“Oh the humanity,” Kurt deadpans.

Blaine shifts in his seat, impassioned by all his own forthcoming words. “But it wasn’t real! It was a bunch of young men fitting the mold and performing at being gentlemen. Most of the friendships were surface. There was no real connection, no drama, no passion. It was a great place to heal, but not to practice at living!”

Blaine forces himself to shut up. He’s not preaching at Kurt here, really.

Kurt clears his throat and starts carefully, “The sarcastic part of me wants to ask how much time you practiced that in front of the mirror and if it were for something dorky like debate club. The more compassionate side of me has to ask what you mean by heal?”

Blaine takes a swallow, his throat suddenly dry.  “So, my first school… well, I came out there. And it was rough. Rough at school. Rough at home… and, well, there was this Sadie Hawkins dance, and I asked the only other out gay guy in the school, just as friends. So we went. I guess we thought we revolutionaries or something…”

Blaine stops and pinches the bridge of his nose. There’s a stress headache of just remembering already coming on. He takes a few calming breathes, a tactic he’s learned.

“After the dance, while we were waiting for his dad to come pick us up… these three guys. They beat the living shit out of us.”

His hands fidget badly, overturning the ivy vine until Kurt’s hands settle on top of his, freezing them, even as Kurt whispers “Stop.” Kurt slips the wine out of Blaine’s now limp hands.

“And I ran away,” Blaine says. “Finished that school year through correspondence course. I didn’t stand up. It was so weak.”

“No,” Kurt says bluntly. “Doing what you have to do to survive is never weak.”

Blaine sits quietly under the chastisement, wishing he could believe it for himself. Kurt walked the halls with his bullies every day.

“Here,” Kurt shifts sideways closer. He lays the ivy, now twisted into a wreath, onto Blaine’s head. “Like a hero of ancient Greece, so you’ll remember you’re never weak for surviving.”

Blaine adjusts the wreath above his ear. “I’m pretty sure none of this is historically accurate.”

“I wouldn’t know. I think I skipped that class.”

There might’ve been a day where Blaine took that straight forward serious as it was, but now he knows enough to read the nuance in Kurt’s expression – the genuine behind the actor’s practiced mask of indifference and cynicism. Kurt sitting next to him in private his Narnia, sunlight filtering through the slates and ivy making Kurt glow.

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says, looking him dead in the eye, “One of these days I might just kiss you.”

Kurt blinks once – surprise – and twice – knowing. He learns in and says, “And one of these days I might let you.”

It was almost that day, but then, not sure if the chimes were in his head or real, Blaine blathers, “Was that the school bell?”

“Oh my god, bowtie!”

“Hey, I’m wearing an actual necktie today.”

“That doesn’t make it any better.”

“…But seriously, was that the school bell?”

Kurt kicks at him playfully. “Yes. Now get to class, you nerd.”

Blaine stands, gathering his bag. “What about you?” he asks.

Kurt shakes his head. “Don’t you know anything about me by now?”

Blaine starts out but before pushing through the bush, he remember the ivy wreath on his head. He trots back to Kurt.

“What?” Kurt questions from where he has leaned back to relax.

Blaine takes the wreath and transplants it atop Kurt’s hair. “So you remember the same thing.”

Kurt looks stunned, then somber, then says, “Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is from Blaine's 3rd person limited perspective (or is supposed to be) and I don't think I ever had Blaine learn Burt's name,.. but when I went back to edit, I couldn't find a place to fit it in the flow, so I'm just going with it. Headcanon, for anyone who saw this flaw and needs sense of it, it was on a receipt or flyer from Hummel Tire and Lube from when Blaine had his car fixed there and that's where he saw it.


	6. Nose Rings and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who’s completely grounded-free

“Guess who’s completely grounded-free?” Kurt says, having walked up to Blaine at his locker. This is the first time Kurt’s ever approached him in the hallway.

Blaine’s moving his books from his satchel to his locker in a methodical manner. “You, I’m guessing. Though I know you’ve still been skipping class.”

“Yes, but not getting caught,” Kurt snarks back. He leans his length up against the row of lockers. “So, I’m getting a new piercing today, want to come with?”      

“I thought you had to be eighteen for that,” Blaine says.

“You think I was eighteen for these.” Kurt motions at his face, where his eyebrow and lip are pierced. “Fake id, duh.”

“So you’re breaking the law on the first day you’re free of being grounded?” Blaine makes sure he has all his necessary books for homeroom, then shuts his locker door.

Kurt waves a hand in the air as if flicking away the concern. “You coming or not?”

Blaine has never felt the urge to visit a piercing parlor, but if it meant spending time with Kurt outside of school…

“Sure. When?” Blaine asks.

“Right after school.”

“I  have glee.”

“I suppose I can’t convince you to skip it?”

Blaine shakes his head. He’s had enough of an experience skipping school last time.

“After glee then. I’ll wait for you.”

…

The rest of the day and glee practice went smoothly. As the club shifts out of choir room, Kurt is sitting on the hallway floor leaning back against the lockers. He’s playing a game on his phone. He doesn’t spare the effort to pause his game to acknowledge the other members of the glee club. The glee club spares plenty of looks between themselves as they see Kurt there. Blaine waits for them to leave.

Mercedes pauses in the doorway, one of the last out. She stares at Kurt for a moment like she’s staring at a puzzle. Blaine watches her, saying nothing.

After a moment, most of the others dispersed and out of earshot, she says quietly, “Hey, Kurt.”

Kurt looks up, a little startled at her soft voice, before culling his expression down to disaffection. “Hey,” he responds.

That’s the extent of the exchange. Kurt directs his eyes back to his phone. Mercedes looks like she wants to say more, shifting her weight between her feet a few times before turning down the hall.

“Ready to go?” Blaine asks.

Kurt pushes himself to his feet. “Let’s go.”

As they walk, Blaine asks, “So what was that, between you and Mercedes?” like he doesn’t know anything.

“We used to hang, a long time ago. She probably doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“So she said hello?”

“It’s called manners, Blaine.”

Blaine snorts. “What do you know about manners?”

“I know they exist, asshole.”

…

Somehow Blaine ends up somewhere he never thought he’d go willing and sober before, a tattoo and piercing parlor. Behind the counter stands a woman with a half-shaved head and two full sleeves of tattoos up her arms, looking rather scary until she smiles when she catches sight of Kurt.

“Hey, K,” she says. “Finally going to let me ink you up.”

Kurt smiles, leaning up against the front counter, all-in-all more comfortable here than Blaine’s ever seen him in school. “I’ve told you before, Maya, my skin’s much too delicate.”

The woman with the half-shaved head, Maya, pets Kurt’s arm. “But that’s what would make it so pretty,” she half-whines, half-admires. Blaine had never found tattoos all that attractive before, but he sees Maya’s point.

“I want to get my nose pierced,” Kurt tells her.

“Nostril or septum?” Maya’s suddenly all business.

“Nostril.” Kurt points to his nose on the same side as his eyebrow bar. “I was thinking a small hoop would look good.”

Maya hmmed in agreement. “I’m assuming silver-tone to match the others.”

“Of course.” Kurt sounds almost snide as he says this. Maya pulls out a tray of nose rings from under the glass counter for him to peruse.

Maya’s eyes turn to Blaine, standing a little behind Kurt, observing him in his apparently natural habitat. “What about you, honey? Want to get anything pierced today?”

“Oh, um, no. I’m just here for support… I think.” Kurt’s done this twice before without him, so Blaine’s not really sure why he’s here.

Kurt snickers. “Does he really look like the type?”

“You’d be surprised what straight-laced people have hidden under their clothes,” Maya says, eyeing Blaine carefully.

“I have nothing hidden under my clothes,” Blaine says, very specifically.

Maya laughs. “I like him,” she says to Kurt. “Who is he?”

“I’m Blaine,” Blaine says, resisting the urge to offer his hand to shake, because everything seems more casual here. Maybe he should stop standing so stiff.

“You heard him,” Kurt says, head ducked low as he examines the nose ring collection.

Like an older sister trying to embarrass him, she ducks down next to him and says in a completely hearable whisper, “But who is he to _you_?”

“Just some guy,” Kurt mutters, voice-low, but Blaine is much too close to all of this for any of it to be disguised.

“Just some guy, sure,” Maya repeats, glancing up over Kurt at Blaine. An expression of knowing all is well-placed on her face.

“This one,” Kurt announces loudly, plucking a ring from the foam backing. Blaine suspects his final choice was made purely to keep Maya from saying more.

 “Okay, let’s get you in a chair,” she says, waving for them to come around the counter. “You can come too, _Blaine_. Hold K’s hand or something to help him through the pain.”

“Oh my god,” Kurt says, fleeing around the counter before Blaine can catch a clearer image of his blushed face.

…

“What do you think?” Kurt examines his new piercing from different angels in his rear view mirror.

“I think you could pull any look off,” Blaine says from the passenger seat, examining Kurt’s features him while Kurt is too distracted to notice.

“I’m not sure if that is a compliment or a polite insult.”

“It’s a compliment,” Blaine reassures. Kurt’s nose ring is a balance of a little pretty and a little edgy that works for who Kurt is. But Blaine might be biased by the experience though, for Blaine had dared to employ Maya’s suggestion. He slipped his hand into Kurt’s as Maya had been busy with the preparation. Kurt hadn’t pulled away, even if he did throw Blaine an only half-venomous stink eye. And when the needle went through the side of his nose, Kurt did squeeze Blaine’s hand in reflex.

“So, how did _K_ become a nickname?”

“Let’s just say the first letter of my first name is the only thing on my fake id that is remotely true.”

“And Maya knows it’s a fake?”

“Of course not,” Kurt says in a tone that is _of course yes._

“Will your dad be upset that you got your nose pierced?”

Kurt looks down from the mirror to his passenger. “Do you ask a lot of questions?”

Blaine shrugs. “Just curious.”

“My dad and I have an arrangement not to argue about my self-expression as long as I don’t do anything permanent.”

“So no tattoos,” Blaine states.

“It’s an easy concession considering I don’t want one. Just don’t tell my dad that. He thinks he won a victory there.”

…

In English class, Mercedes usually sits with Tina, but today she sits down next to Blaine.

“You seem to hang out with Kurt a lot now,” she says to him, rolling her pen between her fingers. Mercedes is often an outspoken person, and in New Directions, you have to be outspoken to be heard over the chaos. However, whenever she speaks to Blaine about Kurt, her meeker side rises to the surface.

“I do,” Blaine replies. He waits.

“How is he?” she asks.

“He’s good. I mean… I’m still getting to know him, really, but… he seems good.”

She taps her pen on the desk. “Good.”

“…You should ask him yourself sometime,” Blaine says.

“Oh, I don’t think he wants to talk to me.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

Mercedes’ eyes slide to him sharp. “How do you figure, boy?”

“Kurt’s, well, he’s really guarded. Like barb wire guarded. But I think he likes it when people are nice to him, but not when they want anything from him for it. Just nice to him because he’s him.”

“Isn’t that what we all want?” Mercedes asks.

Blaine chuckles. “I suppose so. He just makes you prove it more.”

…            

By this point in the year, Mrs. Boggart has already given up and just gives out worksheets most of her classes. Kurt filled his out within the first ten minutes of class and is now concentrating on his using his phone under the desk. The guy really does have an obsession with Angry Birds.

Blaine kicks at Kurt’s chair leg to get his attention. “You doing anything after school?”

“Is that your polite way of asking if I have detention or have been grounded again?” Kurt asks.

“No, it’s my way of asking if you’re doing anything after school, because if you’re not you can do something with me.”

“You decide to get a piercing too?” Kurt asks with raised eyebrows.

“I was thinking something more like coffee,” Blaine says.

“I like coffee,” Kurt says, matter-of-fact.

“…So?”

“Let’s see if I make it to the end of today without getting detention and go from there?”

Kurt does make it to the end of the day without getting detention. Blaine wonders if Kurt would have intentionally gotten detention to get out of their plans if he decided partway through the day he didn’t want to do. But that was all guessing, and Kurt now following him to the parking lot.

“Follow me in your car,” Blaine suggests. He leads Kurt on a not far drive to a little, independent coffee place called the Lima Bean. Blaine had been to a few times before.

Kurt snorts. “Clever name.”

“It catches the eye, come on.” He holds the coffee shop’s door open for Kurt.

They wait in line together. When they get to the counter, Blaine motions for Kurt to order first.

“Grande nonfat mocha,” Kurt says, starting to pull out his wallet.

“I got it,” Blaine says, pulling out his wallet faster. He orders his coffee of choice, a medium drip, and has the barista put them both on the same bill. Distracted by the transaction, Blaine doesn’t realize the how quiet Kurt has dropped off.

He’s quiet while they wait for the orders, Blaine chattering about how a classmate introduced to this place while he attended Dalton. Kurt’s quiet as they move through the place to get a table, Blaine asking Kurt if his drink is to his liking.

They reach the table, and Kurt interrupts, “Don’t pull out my chair.”

Blaine startles still, confused. “What?”  

Kurt sits down and doesn’t answer. He turns his coffee cup between his fingers.

“Kurt…?” Blaine asks carefully. He sits down and tries to get a look at Kurt’s downturned face. He’s scowling. “What’s going on?”

“This isn’t a date,” Kurt says, glaring at the tabletop.

“…um.”

“You said we were getting coffee after school. Not going on a date,” Kurt snaps. He’s still not making eye contact.

“What makes this a date?” Blaine had just wanted to hang out with Kurt.

“Paying for my coffee. Holding open the door…”

“I was just being nice,” Blaine says, but part of him wonders if there was more. He surely hadn’t labeled this as a date in his head, although it was true that their interactions had been growing flirtier. Perhaps Blaine’s subconscious had subtly transformed it into something more.

“No,” Kurt says, finally looking up at Blaine but only to glower. “You’re turning this into more than I agreed to.”

Blaine sighs. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean for any of this to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to hang out with you, really.”

Kurt mumbles a _whatever_ and takes a sip of his mocha.

“If it makes you feel better, you can pay me back for the coffee.”

“I’m not paying you back for the coffee, bowtie. After all this emotional duress, I deserve a free coffee.”

Blaine holds back a laugh. If Kurt is joking, than Blaine is somewhat forgiven.

Quietly for a while they drink their coffee before Blaine dares to ask the question that’s bothering him.

“Kurt… After what we said under the bleachers… if this were a date, would that be so bad?”

Kurt sucks in his lips, maybe an expression of nerves or thought. He answers, “I said I _might_ let you… one day. But I don’t like being forced, or tricked, into anything.”

Knowing Kurt, this makes sense.

“Okay… Next time we can both buy our own coffee.”

“What makes you think there will be a next time?” Kurt replies, arching his eyebrow like he does.

“The fact you already finished your coffee… this place gets you hooked.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On both sites that I have this story posted on, here and fanfiction.net (under the penname akiandtenshi if you're interested in reading on that platform instead) this story had a bit of a surge of popularity after I posted last chapter. I don't know if Chapter 5 was the chapter that finally sold the story to the readers or if my new summary was successful or maybe if some people don't like reading story until several chapters have been posted. Hell, or maybe this got put on a rec list somewhere. A mystery...


	7. A Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm worried that Kurt's behavior may seem erratic, but I swear I have a back story and psychology for him that makes it make sense. Just, as the story is told from Blaine's POV, it's often hidden from him and the reader alike. But I promise this will pay off and soon.

After the awkwardness of the not-date dissipated, Blaine was able to bring up something that had been concerning him.

“Do you harbor any hatred towards Mercedes?”

“That’s a non sequitur, and… no.”

Blaine hmmed.

“Wait, have you been talking with her about me behind my back?”

“Um… well, in my defense she’s almost always the one to bring it up… and it’s only been nice things.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Kurt says, and it sounds light-hearted, but his mouth settles in tight

Blaine laughs. “I’m sorry. It’s just… between the two of us, judging by like, superficial appearance, I don’t think people would call me the incorrigible one.”

Kurt sticks the tip of his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. “That’s kinda the whole point,” Kurt says, which does not make any sense to Blaine, but of course, Blaine’s head is not in a truly concentrated place as he stares at Kurt’s tongue just peaking out. He really needs to stop being a pervert.

Kurt’s tongue retreats, and Blaine’s brain snaps mostly back into place. Kurt’s lips are still there.

“So, Mercedes is asking about me?”

“Yeah, she noticed us hanging out. She’s wondering if you were okay?”

Kurt takes a sip of his coffee before asking, “What’d you tell her?”

“I told her it was too complicated for a straight answer.”

Kurt snorts into his drink. “There are no easy answers,” he agrees.

Their conversation wonders off into other, inconsequential but enjoyable things.

…

They had agreed to another afternoon of coffee after school, sometime the next week.

“Well, I got detention, so I will meet you after your loser glee club,” Kurt had told him. Mr. Schue was sick, however, so after an attempt at a student run meeting, they dispersed early.

Blaine waited for Kurt outside of the detention room, but when it vacated at four-thirty, Kurt wasn’t among the students.

“Excuse me,” he asks the frazzled teacher. “Where’s Kurt Hummel?”

“Kurt Hummel didn’t have detention today,” the teacher says, a certain tired derision over the word _today._

Blaine wanders the halls. He pulls out his phone to text, but realizes he’s never actually exchanged phone numbers with Kurt. With all they’ve done and been through, there have been no texts, no phone calls. It’s all been so viscerally in person.

He passes by the auditorium, a place he’s performed a handful of times with the glee club, but only in practice and for the club. He hears it, so faint, and only because the hall is empty of any other noise. HeHe

 

Blaine pushes through the auditorium door. He’s nothing but curious, and whoever is singing deserves some applause. Plus, New Directions could use that voice in its repertoire.

Only the most basic lights are on in the theater, moderate above the seating, and a little brighter over the stage. So at first all Blaine can make out is a shadowy figure moving around on his stage until his eyes adjust to the dimness. Then he recognized the figure – Kurt.

Badass, sneers at everyone Kurt is on the stage, belting out high notes of… is that ‘Rose’s Turn’? His voice is crystal clear and beautiful, which is both surprising and not. Kurt had a higher speaking voice than the average guy, so it makes sense that his singing voice would follow suit. But to hear the passion in it, the vulnerability, alone on the stage, performing for no one… It made Blaine sink a little deeper into the mire of feelings he had for the boy.

The last note reverberated around the auditorium. Then Kurt was just left panting on the stage. Blaine claps. Kurt jerks. He looks desperately around, trying to identify where and who it is coming from.

“It’s me,” Blaine calls out to give Kurt an answer. He steps forward from the back so he can be seen. 

There’s a visible sag of relief to Kurt’s shoulders. He comes to the edge of the stages, squats, then hops down.

“Of all people, it would be you who sneaks in on me, bowtie.”

“I didn’t know you could sing,” Blaine says, ignoring Kurt’s chastisement.

“Most people don’t know. Except for my dad and now you. And I don’t think my dad knows I still sing.” Kurt rubs his hands on the front of his thighs, perhaps in nervous habit. “We don’t have to go through the whole _you don’t tell anyone_ thing, right?”

An idea pops into Blaine’s head. “You should join glee!”

Kurt squints at him. “That doesn’t really fit into the whole _no one should no_ thing.”

“But people should know!” Blaine protests enthusiastically, able to actually feel his own grin. He can’t fight it down. “You have an amazing voice.”

“Blaine…” Kurt says in a tone as though getting ready to disappoint a child with the truth that there is no Santa Claus.

Blaine’s smile sinks. “Why? Because you think it’ll ruin your tough reputation? What’s with you and appearances anyway?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.” He starts to press past Blaine, toward the exit.

“Wait, don’t let me stop you from… I mean, you can keep singing.”

Kurt’s eyes drift longingly over to the stage.

Bashfully, Blaine tries, “Sing for me.”

Kurt gnaws at his bottom lip. His eyes come back from the stage to Blaine. “I… I can’t.”

“Why not?” Blaine challenges softly.

“Because…” Kurt grits his teeth, then spits out an admission. “Because I sound weird, okay.”

“I think you sound wonderful.”

“Maybe I don’t care what you think!” Kurt shouts. It echoes in the auditorium. This shuts Blaine up. Kurt sighs, and it’s full of rough-edged frustration. He rings his fingers through his hair and looks like he is about to pull it out. “Why do you always have to push things?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” Blaine says, voice sounding hollow, and he feeling hollow. He had let his enthusiasm get the better of him.

“And stop saying you’re sorry,” Kurt snaps.

“Well, I am,” Blaine protests. What can he do if he can’t apologize? “I keep screwing up, so I need to keep being sorry.”

“And stop making it about you.”

“What?” Blaine says, but it’s barely voiced and even less heard as Kurt drops his hands from his hair and rants.

“Believe it or not, very little of what I do is about you. I’ve lived over seventeen years of my life before you showed up in your polka dot bowtie.”

“I know,” Blaine says. He feels small under Kurt’s rage.

“I mean, what’s the big idea? Why do you keep inserting yourself into my life, my choices!”

Blaine’s shoulders edge up, himself shrinking. Had he read this all wrong, from the beginning? Was he always unwanted? Because _unwanted_ feels like an ice bath.

“Please stop yelling,” Blaine says. It’s eeked out as a whisper.

But Kurt’s in a proper whirlwind. “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Blaine squeezes his eyes shut and says, even quieter, “Please.”

Kurt’s silent for a moment. Blaine has to wonder if he’s gone – walked away or evaporated.

“Shit.” Kurt’s tone is cutting, but not at Blaine.

Blaine peeks his eyes open. He’s remembering his own breathing exercises. He knows what it is to snap.

Perhaps there is some remorse in Kurt’s tight expression, but mostly it seems like a different type of anger. “I forgot,” Kurt says, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to fight off a headache.

“Forgot what?” Blaine asks tentatively. Asking too much had what gotten him into this situation.

“That I’m not the only one who’s scared,” Kurt says. “I’m like the immune system… I’m just trying to protect myself, but sometimes I attack the wrong things.”

“I guess you went to that class,” Blaine jokes, but it is under with his quietness and his still draining anxiety.

“Well,” Kurt says, drumming his fingers on the top of a chair. “I do want to graduate.”

Neither of them say anything for a while. There’s never been such a two-sided fault between them.

“Are you okay, now?” Kurt asks.

Blaine returns a quick, meaningless, “I’m fine.”

“You were kind of pale there. It reminded me of… me.”

It made sense, Kurt’s sudden reaction one way and then another. Kurt was right, they were both scared. Why not, considering the hurts they had suffered? So sure, he exploded angrily at Blaine, because Blaine’s had pierced past Kurt’s armor, but that was the thing… Kurt had, at multiple times, let Blaine willingly beyond that armor. So when Kurt saw Blaine just as scared Kurt had been once – or maybe always was in private – Kurt hadn’t wanted it. Maybe Kurt understands more and more that Blaine wasn’t someone Kurt had to protect himself from.

“It wasn’t you,” Blaine tells Kurt. He wants to approach him, take him by the shoulders to assure. He doesn’t. He thinks they both need the cushion of physical distance right now. They well have, several feet separating them.

“It was,” Kurt retorts. “But I understand what you’re saying. I just…”

“Triggered it, yeah.”

The retreat into hibernation of quiet again.

“Should we go get that coffee now?” Blaine asks.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Kurt says, then with a quick addition, “It’s not you. I just… don’t think that a good idea right now.”

…

“You should have your friends over sometime,” Blaine’s mom tells him as he helps her prepare dinner that evening.

“Oh,” Blaine says, surprised, “Maybe.” He’s so stuck in his head over his fight with Kurt that he wasn’t really present in the moment.

“You’re making friends, aren’t you?” The undercut of worry is present in his mother’s tone.

“Yeah, of course, I just don’t if we’re close enough for me to invite them into my home,” Blaine says, excusing himself. His closest bond so far was with Kurt. Kurt, who would probably balk at Blaine inviting into his home. Kurt, who would probably swear and glare at his mother.

“Have you gone to any of their homes?”

“Once…” Blaine grimaces at his thoughtless reveal, because that would demand explanation. “I mean, one of theirs, _one_ , briefly.”

Mom turns her attention to the stove and stirs a pot. She checks Blaine out of the corner of her eye. “And who would this _one_ be?”

Blaine dumps the carrots he just shredded into the salad bowl. He tries his best to force a nonchalant tone. “Kurt. Kurt Hummel.”

Mom continues stirring for a few moments, and Blaine is instantly suspicious of her behavior.

“Is he in your show choir?” she asks.

“No. He’s in my French class.”

“Is he…,” she trails off.

Blaine faces her, eyebrows raised up. “Gay?” he fills in.

Mom stops stirring. “I was going to say _nice._ ”

“No you weren’t.”

“I think it’s important for you to make friends with people who share your experiences!” his mom protests. But Blaine knows she’s worried. It’s was going to a dance with a gay classmate that got him assaulted.

Mom clears her throat, starts stirring again. “So, are you and this Kurt –”

“No,” Blaine instantly interrupts.

“Blaine, you didn’t even know what I was going to say,” says Mom, slightly irritated.

“Yes, I do.”

“Really, then what, pray tell, was I about to say?”

“You were going to ask if we were dating,” Blaine responds smoothly.

Mom pinches her lips together in a way Blaine knows means he is right, but she is frustrated by that fact he is right.

“Well, then. If he hosted you at his home, it’s only polite that you return the offer.”

“What if he says no?”

“You’ll never know until you ask,” Mom retorts, resounding off a tidbit she must have picked up in some etiquette manual.

Blaine huffs silently. He doesn’t really have to ask. He knows.

…

 Dost Blaine’s eyes deceive him? It’s the morning after. He’s at his locker. And there comes Kurt down the hallway. Was the boy coming to give him a delayed punch in the face? Or was he going to talk to Blaine like nothing had happened last afternoon?

Neither, apparently, for Kurt walked straight past Blaine, and not in his usually raged way he did when he just wanted people to get out of his way.

Kurt stops a few feet down, where Mercedes is transferring her books from her bag into her locker. Blaine doesn’t mean to invade, but he’s close enough to overhear.

“I love your outfit today. Purple and gold? Very trendy. Royal, even.”

Mercedes is quiet at first, stunned. Blaine pulse starts to rush. He really wants this to work out. For Mercedes. For Kurt. Blaine doesn’t matter in this picture right now and he finds that a relief and a blessing… to know that his interest in Kurt isn’t purely selfish.

Mercedes flicks a strand of hair over her shoulder and smile. “Well, yes, _Royal_ is my middle name. And not all of us can pull of black and pink like you.”

“We all have our talents.”

Blaine breathes easy. It’s a connection. A start. He gets the rest of class materials together and heads off. He can leave them to their bonding in private.

…

In English, Mercedes sits next to him again, sliding in just before the bell rings.

“Thank you,” she says.

“I didn’t do anything,” Blaine replies.

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “Sure.”

…

Mercedes and Kurt cozy up pretty fast, or so Blaine can deduce from them coming up to him in the hall together. Mercedes asks: “Are you the other European history class with Mr. Drayson?”

“Um, yes,” Blaine answers. He glances at Kurt, but has a ‘too cool for school’ stance to him and appears to be only half listening.

“There’s a test tomorrow,” she says.

“I know.”

“Well, do you want to come to Kurt’s after school to study?”

Blaine glances at Kurt again. Nothing.

“Um, sure,” Blaine says.

“Great. See you later.”

The two of them leave together.

…

“Hey, loser, eat lunch with me,” Kurt says, kicking at Blaine’s bare ankle to get his attention.

Blaine nods, and follows Kurt, who leads him out behind the secret bleachers again.

“What changed between yesterday afternoon and today?” Blaine asks as they settle in, both with bagged lunches.

“What do you mean?” Kurt asks, picking the crust off his sandwich.

“You said us hanging out was ‘not a good idea’,” Blaine says with an aborted shrug. He needs to stop dampening his words with shrugs. It’s like he’s walking around as an apology for everything he even thinks.

Kurt side-eyes him. “I didn’t mean forever, bowtie.”

“Everything seemed to explode yesterday.” Blaine doesn’t have another way to say it. Yesterday, it went off the tracks. They’ve had their bumps, but the two of them had seemed to be progressing, as friends and maybe as something more.

Kurt puts down his sandwich and shifts around to he can face Blaine slant-ways. They had been sitting side by side, although with a respectable gap between them.

“Don’t you get it?” Kurt asks. His head is tilted inward, a sign of interest, a sign of openness. It’s Kurt, guard at least somewhat down.

“I’m confused,” Blaine admits. Kurt’s probably the thing he _gets_ least in his life at the moment.

“You see more of me than anymore, even my dad lately. And I don’t mean ‘more’ like time. Just _more._ ”

“I’m not any less confused,” Blaine says. He wrinkled the brown bag he brought his lunch in between his fingers.

“Why do you think I dress like this?” Kurt waves toward himself. Today he’s in even bigger boots than the first day they met, and is wearing black, fingerless gloves on both hands. “It’s the same reason I don’t want anyone to know I sing, and sing showtunes at that… the reason I flipped off the handle at you yesterday… Don’t you get it?”

 “Kurt…” Blaine starts, but it’s clear from his tone he doesn’t know.

 Kurt just shakes his head and sighs quietly, interrupting what was sure to be Blaine’s failed attempt at puzzling out Kurt.

“I can’t change my voice,” Kurt says, “I can’t change the way I look. I can’t pass, and when I was in the closet it was transparent as hell… I can either be someone they beat up or someone they’re afraid of. And I choose the latter.”

Kurt sinks back into his spot. He returns to tearing up his sandwich. Blaine lets his words settle in.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine says.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “I told you to stop saying sorry.”

“No, I mean… I know you hate when people apologize for things that aren’t there fault. But I’m sorry you live in a world you’re not safe to be yourself.”

Kurt takes a big bite of his sandwich, takes his time chewing. After swallowing, he replies, “I’m sorry we both do.”

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Yes, No, Maybe

**Chapter 8**

“Don’t mean to be rude, but is this all we’re doing this afternoon? I thought we were supposed to be studying history,” Blaine says to Mercedes and Kurt sitting on the floor. Kurt holding her hand in his as he paints her nails.

“If you don’t like it, you can go,” Kurt says, although the threat is only half-hearted.

“Don’t talk to your boyfriend like that,” Mercedes scolds with a smile. Kurt’s hand jerks, getting nail polish on Mercedes skin rather than her fingernail.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Mercedes glances at Blaine, hiding his face behind his textbook, and Kurt.

Kurt leans forward and whispers fortuitously. “Did he say we were boyfriends?”

“I didn’t,” Blaine protests, because he knows about how such a thing could upset Kurt.

“No… I just assumed.” Mercedes glances between them again. “Oh. I see how it is.”

“See how what is?” Kurt asks, still stunned.

“The two of you,” Mercedes says. “It’s cute.”

Kurt scowls heavily and Mercedes laughs at his exaggerated expression.               Her casual disregard for the expression that usually has nerds scurrying startles Kurt out of it. Blaine, peaking over the top edge of his textbook, has to agree with Mercedes. Kurt is cute, especially now with that look of bewilderment.

Around five thirty, Burt walks through the front door only to stop short at the site in his living room: Kurt with two friends, sprawled out across the living room with their homework.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, befuddled.

“We’re studying. What does it look like,” Kurt retorts.

“It wasn’t an accusation, Kurt,” Burt says, weary.

Mercedes looks a little uncomfortable in the middle of the family squabble. Blaine’s been in much more comfortable situations involving Kurt and his father.

Maybe for the sake of his houseguests, Kurt chills. “This is Mercedes. You know Blaine,” he says as introduction.

“Hi, Mr. Hummel,” Mercedes says politely.

“If you kids are sticking around, I can order some pizza.”

Pizza was agreed upon. By the time it arrived, they were sick of homework, so they put in a movie and ate off TV trays in the living room. Burt, deciding not to be a lurking parent, ate in the attached kitchen, reading the newspaper.

Being the responsible one, halfway through the movie, once they were all done eating, Blaine collects their empty plates and takes them to a kitchen. He sets them in the sink.

“Hey, kid,” Burt says to him. Blaine turns, a nervous bite in his gut. He hasn’t talked to Kurt’s father since the man drove him home after he caught Kurt and Blaine in bed together. “That girl… Kurt and her used to hang out a few years ago. But then Kurt hung out with no one for a long. You the reason they’re friends again?”

“I’m pretty sure both of them wanted to be friends. I just opened the channel.”

“So that’s a yes,” Burt says. “A humble yes, but a yes.”

Blaine shrugs. He doesn’t think he can take the credit.

Burt clears his throat gruffly. “Well, I might not like coming home to find my son in bed with a strange boy, but I do like coming home to see him with friends.”

Blaine got what this was, approval. A leap forward from his back first impression.

“Thank you, sir,” he says.

Burt lifts up his paper. “You’re missing the movie,” he says, a dismissal, but a good kind.

During the time Blaine was in the kitchen, Kurt and Mercedes had relocated from the couch to the floor. They had made a sort of nest out of throw pillows and removable couch cushions and afghan blankets.

“You’re missing the best part, bowtie,” Kurt admonishes. Blaine lingers in the doorway. Kurt pats the empty spot on his left (on his right, he is leeched on by Mercedes), “Come sit down, loser.”

Blaine does, pulling his knees up and wrapping his arms loose around them. Due to the limited space of the nest, he’s in close proximity to Kurt. When Kurt throws back his head to laugh at something Mercedes whispered in his ear, their shoulders brush.

There’s something divine and sculpture-esque to the curve of Kurt’s jaw line and the lines of his long neck. But better, there was something so flawed, human, and playful to the lines around his squinted eyes when he smiled wide. It was a rare sight, and Blaine wished to memorize it on his corneas so that anytime he closed his eyelids he could draw it up.

“What?” Kurt asks, pulling Blaine out of his ponderings. He touches the side of his face like he expects some speck of food to be there, to explain Blaine’s stares.

“Nothing,” Blaine whispers back with the barest shake of his head.

Kurt elbows him. “Watch the movie.” It’s implicit, ‘not me.’ So Blaine gets more subtle about, glancing through the corner of his eyes at careful intervals. He wants to be able to watch the movie, to put aside the lovelorn ache that was building up in his chest, and just immerse in the fiction. He needs a distraction. But there’s a magnetic pull: from his eyes to Kurt, from his mind to Kurt, from his heart to Kurt.

Blaine knew, knew, knew he had liked Kurt for a long while now. But it was today, sharing in such a casual, friendly moment with Kurt so close and yet a millions away, Blaine knew he was fucked.

…            

At school, a few days later, Mercedes says: “You really have it bad for him, don’t you?”

“Who?” Blaine replies.

“ _Who_?” Mercedes complains back at him.

Blaine ducks his head bashfully. “I do.”

Mercedes smacks his arm. “Then whatcha going to do about it?”

“It’s not that easy.” If only it was. “And it’s not like glee. I can’t publically serenade him and hope for the best. He would hate that.”

“Then privately serenade him. God, boy, you need to something. Your one-sided, moony-eyed looks are getting a little sad.”

“Thanks.”           

“Well, it’s better me telling you now than everybody telling you later… do you want to me see if I can find out if he likes you too?” she asks.

“No. Kurt keeps secrets better than the NSA.”

Mercedes scoffs. “Not from you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re so dunce. You and my boy Kurt both.”  

…

“Mercedes should be here by now.” Kurt pulls out his phone to check the time and then starts texting away. After a successful study session two weeks before, all three of them had planned to meet up again, this time to study for physics. They were all in different sessions, but all had tests forthcoming later that school week. While Kurt and Blaine were all ready to study in Kurt’s living room, Mercedes was noticeably absent.

Kurt stares at his phone, waiting for a response. Blaine still doesn’t have Kurt’s phone number. He’s not sure if this is just something overlooked, or on purpose, or Kurt prefers to talk to him in person. Blaine’s sort of too afraid to ask. It would be awkward at this point, wouldn’t it?

There’s a chime. Kurt’s received a return text. “She says she forgot about her church choir practice and can’t make it. Please study without her,” Kurt says, voice droll.

Blaine’s fairly sure Mercedes ‘forgot’ on purpose. Blaine’s not sure if to bless the woman or to curse her. Ever since Mercedes’ and Kurt’s reconciliation (which Blaine is thrilled about – Kurt deserves and needs more friends than just Blaine), most hanging out had been done with all three of them. With the exception of French class, Blaine rarely saw Kurt alone. When Kurt bothered to eat lunch publically, both Mercedes and Blaine had joined him. In a few cases, Blaine let the two of them have lunch to themselves and ate with the glee kids instead. The two had a lot to catch up on.

Of course, some days Kurt was invisible at lunch, meaning he was under the bleachers. Blaine has not been invited back under the bleachers since his second trip there. It would be wrong to go there uninvited. As far as Blaine knew, Kurt hadn’t taken Mercedes to the bleachers nor told her a word about them.

“I guess we should get started,” Blaine says, thumbing through the textbook.

“Right,” Kurt says with a sharp _t._ He sits down on the couch, tight against the armrest, the farthest he can be from Blaine.

“Um,” Blaine mutters. Last time the three of them had studied (when they actually got around to studying) they had all crowded around their shared open text books, half-filled out study guides, and notebooks.

Kurt crosses his legs, closing his body language off even more, shrinking himself down and away from Blaine.

“Maybe we should postpone this,” Kurt says.

“She said to study without her.” He intends to keep this visit polite and to purpose. If the two of them can’t stand to be in the same room together under the true pretense of studying, there is little hope for them.

Kurt tugs at a loose thread on the armrest. “I don’t think that’s fair to Mercedes.”

“Can we reschedule for tomorrow?”

“I’m helping my dad at the shop tomorrow afternoon,” Kurt says.

“And the test is the day after. So you need to study today. Either with me or without me.” He’s not trying to catch Kurt in a conundrum, but really just wanting to figure things out.

Kurt leans back and gives Blaine an evil eye that’s sizzling. “Then without you.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“… I just think I’ll be better studying by myself.”

Blaine closes his book, grips it stiff on his lap. “But… I thought we all said the other day that we got better history grades because we were such a great study group.”

“That was history, this is physics. I think I’ll be better studying this one on my own.”

“Are you physics genius?” Blaine asks.

Kurt’s hand flairs as he snaps, “Can you just get out!”

Blaine immediately starts to collect his books and put them into his bag. He didn’t know what was wrong, but if someone didn’t want him in their home, he wasn’t going to be as rude and even cruel as not to leave. It would be invading to stay.

He gets up, ready to go to the door, and – while he’s not sure where things went wrong – says, “I’m sorry.”

Almost an automatic response at this point, Kurt says, “Stop apologizing.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Blaine slaps a hand over his mouth. “I’ll go now.” He heads toward the entryway.

“Wait,” Kurt calls after him. Blaine glances over his shoulder to see him standing. “Look. It’s not you. I feel like I’m saying that all the time now.”

“Then what is it?” Blaine dares to ask.

Kurt drops his eyes to the floor before raising them back to catch Blaine’s. He wraps one arm around his middle. “I’ve been noticing the way you’ve been looking at me lately, and it’s really intense. I don’t think I can deal with that all afternoon without a buffer.”

Mercedes had warned him about his moony-eyes.

“So… it is kind of me.”

Kurt huffs, an almost laugh. “I guess it kinda is… I should really use my words instead of being a bitch all the time.”

“I don’t think you’re a bitch,” Blaine says.

Kurt snorts, drops the protective, wrapped arm. “You obviously need to study you’re vocabulary. I mean, I knew you sucked at French, but English too?”

“Wow, harsh,” Blaine responds. He takes a breath. “Do you still want me to leave?” 

“No,” Kurt says instantly, then, “Yes… no… maybe?”

A song stuck in his head from the drive over comes to mind, so Blaine says without much thought, "You're hot and you're cold..."

 

"You did  _not_  just quote a Katy Perry song at me."

 

"Is that a problem?"

 

"If you're going to criticize me, at least don't do it in the words of a blue-haired, autotuned, Lady Gaga-wanna be."

 

Blaine considers this statement. "Wait… do you listen to Lady Gaga?" Blaine asks.

 

Kurt instantly stills in the way he did when Blaine found him listening to showtunes. “Of course that’s what you get out of that,” Kurt mutters.

 

"Kurt... are you a little monster?"

 

Kurt scowls but it’s hardly fierce. "I hate you sometimes."

 

"No you don't," Blaine says. "... I know what hate feels like."

 

It wasn't supposed to be a sob story of a sentence, but both of knew more than the physocializal sting, the physical pain, the viscal fear of actual, unadulterated hate. The fact is, Kurt throwing out the word hate in minor irritation was as meaningful as something throwing out the word love in reference to ice cream.

 

Quite by accident, Blaine had stunned the two of them into a serious moment. And he was going to take his chance. Mercedes had encouraged it, and Kurt had seen his staring. Why not now.?

 

"Look, Kurt," he starts, but not without twisting his fingers together in anxiety. "I don't want to pressure you into anything, because I know how important your independence is to you, but..." God, why is his mouth so parched now? And is Kurt looking paler than normal?

 

Blaine shrugs, and just says it, and it’s like throwing off a heavy winter blanket. "I like you, a lot. I think you’re amazing. And we have these moments where we, you know, hold hands or talk about kissing... and then the next moment it's like you're putting up the drawbridge and leaving me outside... and like I said, I don't want to pressure you, but could you let me know, maybe, what's going on, on your side of," he motions a hand between their two bodies. "this."

 

Now that's done, Blaine has to wait for the blowback. Did he reveal too much of his hand or too soon? Would this push Kurt away for good?

 

Kurt blinks, his eyes watery after. He shuts his eyelids again, squeezed hard, pulling something under control. "You want to know why... why I'm like this, hot and cold…”

 

Blaine says nothing. He said his piece. He was afraid he would shatter everything if he said a syllable.

 

“It's because you fucking terrify me, Blaine."

 

“What?” Blaine never thought himself capable of terrifying anyone. Small children loved him.

 

“Blaine, I’ve spent my entire time in high school trying to keep people away, so I could be safe. And here you are, not held away, not afraid of me. You’re just here, here with me. And…” he shrugs, “and I find more and more that I don’t mind it, or that I look forward to it. That terrifies me.”

 

“I hate to be contrary, but being with someone, in the most purely platonic sense is sort of normal human interaction,” Blaine says sheepishly.

 

“I’m familiar with the concept of friendship, bowtie.”

 

Blaine hates it now, when Kurt refers to him by that nickname, mostly because it signifies a moment when Kurt’s trying to push him away. Like Kurt has successful pushed most everyone else away.

 

“I tried. Don’t you think I tried? Freshman year – I wanted that great high school experience. I wanted friends. So I was myself, and I tried to be open…” Kurt wipes his wrist under his eye, brushing away a droplet before it could become a tear. “And all I ended up with was bruises and… and being scared.”  
 

Blaine shifts his weight, but his watch over Kurt doesn’t waiver. “I really would like to hug you right now,” he says, understanding the importance of that kind of tactil comfort.

Kurt crosses his arms over his chest, curls in. “Well, I don’t want you to.”

So Blaine doesn’t. He stands back, no matter how much he think Kurt needs it. Needs to let Kurt know he fucking gets it. It’s not sympathy. It’s empathy. Blaine has lived that pain and that fear.

“You mentioned it before, and everyone talks about it. Now I’m going to tell you… I did break someone’s fingers.” Kurt’s gone pokerface, his voice solid steel. “It was near the end of freshman year. I had stayed late in the library to work on a research paper. The hallway was completely deserted, I was packing up at my locker, and this big name on campus jock cornered me in, got in my face, was saying all kinds of horrible things.”

Kurt visibly shivers, and Blaine can guess what kinds of things without examples given. He knows the threats, the slurs, the insults that make you feel small and worthless, playing on your own doubts that the world has trained into you.

“His hand was resting on the edge of my open locker.” Kurt lifts his own hand into the air in recreation. “Just curled over the edge. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but he hadn’t touched me… yet. My fight or flight hormones were kicking in, and I saw it. I had the leverage. I could shut the locker door on his hand, and get away while he was in pain. So, I did…” Kurt snorts in a sad laugh. “Do you still want to hug me?”

“I want to hug you even more,” Blaine says, and he means it.

“Four broken fingers, Blaine, and a lost college scholarship. I did that to someone. I hurt someone in the way I always feared they would do to me.”

“It’s different, you know it is,” Blaine says, stepping forward on instinct. “You were defending yourself.”

“He hadn’t touched me.”

“You didn’t know that he wouldn’t.”

“All I know is what I did.”

“Kurt…” Blaine steps forward again. Kurt’s still making himself small, still cross-armed, but he doesn’t retreat. Blaine moves until he is standing right in front of Kurt. He grips him by either shoulder, and says directly to him, “You’re not wrong for doing what you had to do to survive.”

Kurt chokes, a little broken sound. He does it again, then again. He cups his own hand over his mouth, and he’s sobbing.

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, an assurance of him being there. He hasn’t let go of Kurt’s shoulders.

Kurt inches closer to Blaine, ducking his head down onto Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine finally pulls Kurt into the hug he needs, and let’s Kurt cry for a while.

Someone had finally told Kurt what he needed to hear, what he had been trying to tell himself for years but couldn’t believe. And it was heartbreaking.

…

After Kurt calms down, although still sniffle-y, they move back to the couch. They aren’t cuddling or holding hands, but Kurt actually sits next to Blaine.

“This is why you terrify me,” Kurt says. “I’m not like this with anyone, but I am with you. I never told anyone the truth of what happened, but I told you. I act certain ways, ways that would put a normal person off, but not you. Never you. Your stick around. You give me chances. You _see_ more of me than anyone else, and you still _look_ at me like…” He stops. He swallows. “Like I’m worth it. Like I’m beautiful.”

“You are.” Blaine says it so matter-of-fact.

Kurt lifts his head. “Don’t say things like that.”

“I can’t lie.”

Kurt sniffles, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes briefly, which only makes them more red.

Then Kurt says something that makes Blaine’s heart beat triple time: “I like you too.”

But, of course, nothing with Kurt is simple.

“I don’t know what to do with that,” Kurt says. “I didn’t expect someone like you to come along. Not in high school. I just didn’t expect…”

“I understand,” Blaine says, even know the subtext that it means they aren’t about to become a couple even though they have acknowledged mutual feeling. Even more, he understands… Kurt whole plan for high school had been self-preservation. Blaine doesn’t fit into that.

“I’m not saying never… Just give me time, okay, Blaine. Give me time.” 


	9. Aftermath

Mercedes cozies up to Blaine real quick the next day.

“So,” she says, a fake innocuous, examining her fingernails – painted electric blue. “How studying go yesterday?”

“I know you ‘forgot’ on purpose,” Blaine replies.

Mercedes titters. “If you hadn’t, I would question you’re chances at graduating.”

“It was manipulative.” He’s not really upset. In fact, ultimately Kurt and he aired some important things, shared their feelings, and, if anything, grew closer. But it was the principle.

“I tried non-manipulate, but you wouldn’t do anything. Or let me do anything. So I tweaked the circumstances. And now I’m asking, and… _well_?”

“Nothing exploded,” Blaine says, but there is a certain lightness to his tone that betrays more.

Mercedes waits. “And…?” she prompts. “Did you two kiss?”

Blaine sputters, “What? No. Where— where would you get that idea?”

He wishes they kissed. To be honest, he’s probably subconsciously wished that every day since they met.

Mercedes sighs. “I gave you a golden opportunity, and you didn’t confess your feelings and kiss?”

“Hey,” Blaine corrects. “I didn’t say I didn’t confess my feelings.”

Mercedes clutches his arm in reactive excitement. “You did! But you didn’t kiss? Uh-oh… does he not like you back?” She grimaces, maybe contemplating her plan backfiring.

“I didn’t say that either. You know what, why don’t you ask Kurt about any of this?”

She rolls her eyes, and it almost has as much attitude as Kurt’s eye-rolls. “Because whenever I bring you up, he just blushes.”

A grin creeps on Blaine’s face. “He does?”

“God, you with the moony eyes and him with the blushing? I think I’m going to die in the crossfire of romantic tension. It’s ridiculous.”

Blaine’s seen Kurt blush a fair few times— pink easily painting across his pale skin. It made him seem less rough-edged, more innocent, more… more of what Blaine’s hopes Kurt can be, when he’s freed by his own trappings to protect himself from his fears.

Mercedes snaps her fingers in the air in front of Blaine’s face to gain his attention. “Good Lord, you just got moony-eyed and Kurt’s not even hear. You got it bad, boy.”

“I know that,” Blaine says.

“You two really need to kiss and get it over with,” Mercedes says around a sigh, before abandoning Blaine for homeroom.

…

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

They take their typical, front row seats in French II. They glance – fleeting, daring, nervous – not sure how to navigate this new ground. Friends, but more than friends, but not really. Their glances catch each other’s. Kurt sucks in a hard breathe, that blush Mercedes’ mentioned filtering up his neck from under the collar of his dark denim jacket.

“Um,” Kurt starts, but Mrs. Boggart interrupts, clearing her throat loudly in the front of the classroom. Kurt’s head snaps forward as he goes silent, like he’s suddenly transformed into an attentive student.

“I’m tired of you kids always sitting in the same places and always working with the same partners. So get up. Get up. Come on…” The students all awkwardly stand. Mrs. Boggart starts randomly pointing at students from different parts of the room and making them switch seats. “Jayden and Ty, switch. Sasha and Peter. Yes, switch. Marcus and Li. Brett and Emma…” And on.

Most of the students let their dissatisfaction with this teacher-ly turn of events be known through groans and under-their-breathe complaining. Kurt sort of slinks as he stands, looking like he is better and beyond not just this situation, but the class, the school, and the town.

Blaine hopes they’ll be overlooked, Kurt and he. He doesn’t want to be removed from Kurt’s side… Well, from the desk next to Kurt. They barely get to see each other during the school day.

He thinks he might be lucky as Mrs. Boggart slows down on listing names. By now, most of the class mixed up.

But then, “Oh, well, Blaine and Marcia… and I think that’s the last one.”

Blaine almost feels bad for Marcia, who will have to be paired for French exercises with Kurt. He’s cold-shouldered and condescending in French exercises. But first, Blaine feels bad for himself.

He’s grown to like being condescended to in French.

…

They’re at lunch, the three of them. The conversation is a little stilted, and it’s like Kurt and Blaine are unsure what to say, being extra polite. Maybe polite is the wrong word for Kurt’s behavior. Surface-level is probably best. They small talk about their food and the weather and class.

Mercedes stands up suddenly. “You two,” she snaps, “Are ridiculous. I don’t know what exactly happened yesterday afternoon when I gave you a perfectly good opportunity to work this out, but I cannot hang out around this romantic tension anymore.”

She stomps off and joins the table where the glee club is sitting.

“Are we that bad?” Blaine asks, when he gets over his stunned silence.

“We’re a little off today,” Kurt says. “Not nearly as snarky as usual.”

Blaine snorts. That feels more like them. He looks up and they make eye contact properly. Kurt grins at him and Blaine grins back.

“I think she has a point, though. We probably should figure out how to be friends in the wake of… you know, yesterday,” Blaine says.

“We should be friends like we were before we said all that. Just without, like, the hand holding and almost dates and talking about kissing…” the end of the sentence runs into a murmur.

“Oh, okay.”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Kurt chastises.

“In a way I am disappointed,” Blaine admits. “But not about being friends with you. That will never be a disappointment.”

“I just need time,” Kurt says.

“I’ll wait,” Blaine replies.

…

So they wait. The next day Mercedes deems them “tolerable” enough to hang out with again, if still scoffing regularly whenever either says anything or accidently brushes against the other, causing a blush.

It’s hard for Blaine. He feels so much for Kurt, all sorts of things that can’t be channeled into the confines of friendship. He’s felt them for a while, but now that they had been voiced and accepted? Now that Kurt had admitted some measure of reciprocity? It was just bearable.

But what else could Blaine do but what he promised – to wait? No pushing would hurry Kurt along, and any pushing would be something Blaine knew was wrong.

…

So the rest of the school week ticked by, a day at a time, until Friday came. They see each other in French, then at lunch. After that, Blaine doesn’t see hide or pink hair of Kurt. Their paths don’t usually cross in the second half of the day, not unless it is intentionally so. It makes Friday afternoon feel like a drag.

That is, until Kurt’s outside the choir room after glee club.  

“Hey, did you have detention?” Blaine asks with a squinted brow.

“Why would you assume that?” Kurt replies, mildly offended.

“Um, you’re here pretty late,” he says.

Kurt’s eyes dart to the side, then back to Blaine. “Sure,” he says.

They start towards the front door like it’s automatic. Who hangs around school on a Friday unless they’re required to be there?”

They don’t stop until they are beside Blaine’s car. Blaine scrambles for something to say. “Well, see ya.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Yeah. You too.”

…

Blaine should be doing homework but instead he’s laying stomach down on his bed and tracing hearts into the margins of his notebook, decorating with math problems of his and Kurt’s initials. He wasn’t even ashamed, but he was going to make sure Mercedes never saw these.

There’s a knock on his door and he immediately shoves the notebook under his stomach, like he’s hiding porn or something. He doesn’t want his Mom walking in on this either.

“Come in,” he calls.

The door opens. It’s not his mom standing there.

Blaine jumps off the bed. “Kurt!”

Kurt tucks his hands in his pocket, scuffles his chuck-clad foot on the carpet. “Your mom sent me up.”

Blaine only spares the barest thought on what a shock it must have been to his mother to open the front door to Kurt, with his streaked pink hair, his facial piercings, and all the black. It must have been shocking to hear him ask after Blaine, to hear his name is _Kurt_ , presumably the Kurt Blaine had previously mentioned. He didn’t look like the type of person Blaine would be friends with, not at all like the uppercut Dalton classmates.

“How are you?” Blaine asks, a little stilted. _What are you doing here?_ would have been too blunt.

Kurt moves into the room, shutting the door behind himself. Kurt is in Blaine’s house. Kurt is in Blaine’s bedroom. Kurt is in Blaine’s room with the door closed.

“I needed to see you.”

“Oh.” This could be good news. This could be horrible. Either way, what Blaine knows for sure is that his pulse is loudly beating in his own head.

Kurt steps forward, planting his feet, standing now just a pace or two away from Blaine. In front of Blaine.

With all of his chasings, now Kurt had come here. Had come out of his way to find Blaine, to see Blaine. It had to be good, right? This had to be good.

“I just have one thing I need to say to you,” Kurt says, voice low, forcing Blaine to lean in to hear him.

“Yeah?” Blaine asks, nervous.

“Fuck waiting,” Kurt whispers.

“What?” Blaine asks.

Kurt steps closer so there’s barely any space between them. “Fuck waiting. I don’t need any more time. What I do need is for you to kiss me.”

Kurt presses his hands to either side of Blaine’s face and draws him into a hungry kiss.

Blaine’s sizzling, every inch of his skin, his entire nervous system, inside and out. He wraps his arms around Kurt’s middle and pulls him flush. Is this just a wet dream? Please don’t be a dream.

Kurt pulls back, pressing his forehead against Blaine’s. He’s breathing hard, too hard for the length of their kiss. But Blaine’s heart is beating like he’s just run a sprint, so Kurt’s surely mixed up in his own physical reactions.

“I said… I said I needed time,” Kurt breathes, “Because I was scared. What I feel for you is just so big. And for the longest time, the only _big_ things I’ve felt were bad: fear, anger, hurt, sadness, resentment.” He drops a breath or two, and his blinking, catching glisten on his eyelashes.

Blaine can’t look at Kurt properly from this close. But he’s looked for so long. This is better. He can hold him.

“But what I feel for you isn’t bad. And… every day this week I went home and felt wrong. Every day I woke up and couldn’t wait to get to school because it meant seeing you.  When I left school today, all I could think about was how I wasn’t going to see you until three days from now. And wasn’t good enough. Suddenly, I knew…”

“Fuck waiting,” Blaine says in stereo.

Kurt laughs. “I’ve never heard you swear before.”

“We’ve never kissed me before. I guess this is a day for firsts.”

Kurt laughs again and it’s a beautiful sound. They close the gap between their mouths. It’s less hungry and more sweet this time, a different variety of kiss, but no less wonderful. That probably has to do with the company Blaine’s sharing it with.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I missed updating last weekend, but I should be back on my one chapter a week schedule unless any unforeseen circumstances occur. Also, this is my shortest chapter so far, but I hope the content makes up for it.


	10. Middle School Hearts

“Now _this_ is adorable,” Kurt says with a teasing smirk, picking up Blaine’s notebook to examine Blaine’s doodles.

Blaine groans in minor embarrassment. However, he just made out with Kurt. He’d have a hard time being upset by most anything.

Kurt’s lying on his stomach, cross-wise on Blaine’s bed. Blaine’s lying likewise. He puts his arm loose around Kurt’s waist. He leans up and brushes a kiss on the skin behind Kurt’s ear. A shiver runs down Kurt’s spine.

Blaine kisses again. Kurt makes a noise in the back of his throat and ducks his head down, exposing more of his neck. Blaine takes this as a signal, a chance to explore more, until he’s stopped by the collar of Kurt’s shirt.

Kurt huffs through his nose, shifts on the bed so he’s on his side, facing Blaine.

“That’s one way to distract me from your middle-school hearts,” he says.

Blaine can’t resist. Closes the space between their faces, kisses Kurt’s smile. Kurt obliges him for a minute, kissing back.

Until he starts to laugh. “You can’t keep your lips off me,” Kurt says.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,” Blaine admits. This isn’t a secret. He starts to move in again, but is stilled by Kurt’s fingers pressed to his mouth. This is hardly a bad fate.

Kurt drops his hand, his fingertips dragging lightly down Blaine already-sensitive-from-kissing-so-much lips.

“We should talk,” Kurt says, usually dreadful words, but they don’t sound so dreadful from him. “If we’re going to do this… continue to do this… we should define it.”

Blaine blinks, thinks for half a second, and says, his simple answer, “Boyfriends.”

“That easy?”

“Why does it have to be complicated?” Blaine replies. Every step until this point had been had been hard-navigated and tricky. There had been plenty of twisted ankles, trips, and bruised knees. Now that they arrived, why did it have to be trouble?

“I guess it doesn’t…” Kurt blinks his eyes down, runs a finger over the pattern of Blaine’s quilt, blinks up. “I suppose I should say though, I’m not really comfortable being all PDA or anything at school, given…” he sighs, doesn’t finish.

“It’s not a safe environment,” Blaine says. “I get it. I really do. Of all people.”

Kurt presses his hand to Blaine’s neck, kisses Blaine briefly, a peck really, but every touch of Kurt’s lips is precious. “Thank you for understanding.”

Maybe Blaine’s selfish, but now that he’s tasted Kurt’s lips, has gotten to grip his sides, has gotten to hold him, share him, he doesn’t want to stop. He wants more. To drink in more. But Kurt rolls a little farther up on his elbow.

“I probably should be headed home,” Kurt says.

“Before you go...” Blaine gets his phone out. “Can I actually get your phone number?”

The tip of Kurt’s tongue sticks out between his teeth as he types his number into Blaine’s phone. Blaine’s had that tongue in his mouth.

“Here.” Kurt hands the phone back over. “Just text me sometime saying it’s you and I’ll add your number to my phone then.

“You realize I’ll literally be texting you, at the most, five minutes after you leave.”

Kurt smiles, and its less smirk and more tentative. “I really do have to go.” Kurt manages to get off the bed gracefully. Blaine scrambles after him.

“I’ll walk you out.”

Blaine’s mom is reading (or pretending to read) a novel in the living room. Blaine expects her to say something as they pass to the front door, but she doesn’t. Blaine makes sure the front door is unlocked and then leads Kurt outside, down the front walk, to where Kurt’s car is parked along the curb. It’s well past dusk.

Kurt stands by the driver’s door, shifting unsure. “Well, um…” he starts.

Blaine moves in, hugs him, whispers in his ear, “See you at school.”

Kurt nods, says, “Yeah,” gets into his car. The engine revs and Blaine steps farther up the curb. He can’t see too well through the glass of Kurt’s car window in the dark, but he holds up a hand anyway. He thinks he makes out Kurt doing the same.

Back in the house, Mom’s book has been discarded. “So _that’s_ Kurt,” she says, and Blaine can just hear the unsaid words she has pinched behind her teeth.

“You shouldn’t be so judgmental, Mom,” he says back.

“I said nothing,” she replies, voice lofty.

“You were thinking it.”

“What I was thinking was… are you _sure_ you’re not dating him?” It was a question that wasn’t a question. His mom _knew._

“Um,” is all Blaine states. Mom just waits. “Well, that relationship status might’ve just changed this evening…”

 Mom puts on her smug ‘your momma knows everything’ face.

“Tell me one thing, Blaine. Is he nice?”

_Nice_ was never a word Blaine would use to describe Kurt. But _nice_ was surface-level. Cruel people could appear nice.

“He’s abrasive,” Blaine answers. “But he’s good, where it counts.”

…

From Blaine: _Told you I’d text you five minutes after you left._

From Blaine: _I know you’re probably still driving, but I can’t help by wonder… What changed your mind?_

From Kurt: _I was still driving. Don’t be clingy ;)_

From Kurt: _I told you. It was about me. I needed the time to figure it out. And it turned out that time was just a few days._

From Blaine: _I know it’s clingy, but I miss you already._

From Kurt: _I know it’s clingy and hypocritical, but I miss you too._

From Blaine: _I don’t think you realize how much I like you._

There’s a long stretch, longer than the others, before Kurt replies.

From Kurt: _I think I’m going to go to bed early. I’m kinda emotionally exhausted from this week._

From Blaine: _No problem. Sweet dreams._

From Kurt: _You just want me to dream about you._

From Blaine: _Well, I know I’ll be dreaming about you…_

From Kurt: _Goodnight, bowtie_

Blaine crafts four different responses before texting back, simply, _Goodnight._

…

Blaine mopes around his house most of Saturday. Shortly after noon, he texts Kurt: _Can I see you today_

Fifteen minutes or so later, Blaine gets a response. _I’m working._

He debates the idea back and forth in his head like the idea is a tennis ball and his mind the tennis match. It’s one in the afternoon when Blaine finds his mother and asks if he can borrow her car.

“Are you going to see Kurt?” She still says ‘Kurt’ with a strange edge to it.

“Something like that,” Blaine replies.

“Be back for dinner,” she tells him, waving Blaine off.

He gets her keys from the basket by the door, checks that he has his wallet and cell in his pockets, and drives.

Blaine parks outside Hummel Tire and Lube, and walks in the building to find Kurt working behind the front counter, finishing up a transaction with a customer. Blaine waits in line. Once Kurt hands his current customer, an older lady, her receipt, he finally spots Blaine.

“What’re you doing here?” Kurt says.

“My mom’s car… it’s making a noise,” Blaine says, the lie bold-faced and obvious.

“You mom’s car is making a noise?” Kurt asks with overt skepticism, but a little amazed.

Blaine props his elbows down on the counter. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

“I can think of a reason,” Kurt says, but he’s smiling. He leans back, crosses his arms in a fake foreboding. “What kind of noise?”

Blaine clears his throat. “A clang – king?”

“A clanging or a clanking?”

“Uh, both,” Blaine says.

Kurt steps back, knocks on his dad’s office door, and shout back to him, “Hey, Dad, I’m going to go listen to a noise a customer’s car is making in the parking lot.”

Blaine hears Burt’s muffled “Okay” in response.

“Lead the way,” Kurt says.

Blaine takes Kurt out the parking lot where his mother’s car is parked. He gets in the front seat as Kurt stands outside. He revs on the car and lowers the window.

“Sounds fine,” Kurt says.

“Maybe you have to be in here to hear it,” Blaine replies.

Kurt rounds the car and gets in the passenger’s seat, pulling the door shut behind him. “Oh, yes,” he says, “A very subtle clanging noise.”

Blaine reaches across the car and wraps his fingers over Kurt’s hand.

“Thanks for coming to see me,” Kurt says.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Blaine replies.

Kurt snorts. “Who says that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. He just shakes his head and leans over the center console for a kiss. Blaine let’s Kurt lead it, and it’s miserably short.

“I really do have to work though,” Kurt says. “The only way I can make sure my dad doesn’t overwork himself is for me to be here to force him not to.”

“I understand,” Blaine says. How could the world ever overlook how much Kurt cares? It only took Blaine a few encounters with the young man to realize how much passion he held inside his skin. He wasn’t the disaffected youth he let them think he was.

…

Sunday they survived apart through running text commentary on their day. On Monday, Blaine slips through the crowd so he can walk next to Kurt, letting the back of his hand brush against Kurt’s. Kurt catches his gaze, gives a one-sided grin that’s incredibly rich to look at.    

Mercedes eyes them hard in the hallway. “Finally,” she tells them, her only commentary. “But I really thought Blaine would lose the moony-eyes when you to were finally getting it on.”

…

There was something different about kissing Kurt than anyone else Blaine’s ever kissed before. There haven’t been a lot, but Dalton had more than a few out and open-minded young men. Blaine had been well-liked and, dare he say it, popular amongst the student population there. He’s had the opportunity to kiss a few boys. He went on a few dates as well, but never went too far with any of them, never got serious. At Dalton, Blaine had still been healing.

But kissing Kurt… it blew everything other kissing experience in Blaine’s backlog out of the water. Probably because it’s _Kurt_ , who Blaine has wanted so much, who he cares for so much. As inexperienced kisser he is, Kurt wants Blaine too, in a way none of the boys at Dalton did. No fault to them, but Kurt and he shared something deeper.

Blaine also has to admit, Kurt’s lip ring adds an interesting twist to the experience.

The kissing, of course, is new and exciting. It, however, is not the only type of intimacy they engage in. Like now, they were cuddled together on the couch after wearing themselves out from making out.

“I told my dad about us,” Kurt says, on one such occasion.

“How’d that go?” Blaine asks. He trails his fingers down Kurt’s arm.

“The other night at dinner I told him I had to talk to him about something and he said ‘yeah’ and I said ‘you know that Blaine guy?’ and he looked me right in the eye, completely serious and deadpan, and said, ‘you’re dating.’”

Blaine laughs. “Then what happened?”

“Well, because I’m petulant, I said ‘no we’re not. God.’ Then he just gave me this look, like ‘really, bitch.’ Which is not something he would ever say or probably even think, but it was so clear in his face.”

“Did you admit it then?”

“Of course not…,” Kurt says, and Blaine can hear the eye roll in his voice. “I finished dinner in stubborn silence then stomped off to my room.”

“So he doesn’t know?” Blaine questions with moderate confusion.

“I’m not finished the story, Blaine.”

“Sorry, please continue.”

“Later that night, I crept downstairs. Found my dad lounging in front of the TV in his armchair. I said ‘hey dad’ and he said ‘yes, buddy?’ That’s what he used to call me all the time when I was kid. It’s rare now. I kinda liked hearing it again.”

Blaine kisses the top of Kurt’s head, that’s under his chin. Kurt is languid and starfish-like on top of him. “That’s cute.”

“Shut up,” Kurt says, like he’s embarrassed.  He continues regardless. “Anyway, I said to him, ‘Blaine and I are dating.’ And he said, like all fake surprised, ‘oh, really now?’ I nodded, even though I was sort of behind him in the doorway so he couldn’t really see me. He got up from his chair, and he came up to me. And he hugged me. When he was done hugging, he held me by the shoulders, looking at me, and said ‘you’re growing up, aren’t you?’ And I didn’t know what to say to that, because I don’t feel grown up, but at the same time I feel too old already.”

“You’re so lucky, Kurt,” Blaine says. “You’re dad’s awesome.”

Kurt quiet and contemplative for a moment before saying, “I guess he is. But admitting that makes me wish I had been a better son. Not like some straight douche jock or anything, probably what he was expecting when I was born. But like, the last few years, make him come to a few less parent-teacher conferences. Make him not worry so much about me.”

“Um, Kurt, I’m not an expert, but I’m sure most parents worry about their kids. Especially the awesome ones.”

A new voice, gruffer than either of theirs, enters the conversation, “He’s right.”

They both jerk upright from where they were lounging on top of each other on the couch in Kurt’s living room.  Burt is still in his coat, must have just come in from outside not long ago.

“How long have you been eavesdropping?” Kurt asks, a touch of snide covering his shy.

“It’s my house. I can listen to whatever I want,” Burt says, crossing the room, stopping behind the back of the couch. “And no matter how grown up you get, no matter if you’re getting trouble or have a spotless record, I’m going to worry about you, buddy.” He places a broad hand atop Kurt’s head. Kurt stares up, child-like, and Blaine can only imagine him, a desperate, closeted kid like Blaine had been (and sometimes still feels like).

“Because you’re my kid, and I love you.” Burt ruffles Kurt hair, then walks off to the kitchen. Kurt hisses like a cat, hands flying to his hair although it had already been ruffled from previous activities before Kurt and Blaine had started cuddling.

“You staying for dinner, Blaine?” Burt calls from the other room.

Blaine looks to Kurt to see if the offer is approved. Kurt just nods.

“Yes, sir!” Blaine calls back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter did not make you die of cuteness, I didn't do my job


	11. Trouble in Paradise

Now that they are boyfriends, now that the big secrets are out, Kurt is more forthcoming with his past and his inner thoughts with Blaine. He lets the story out in pieces, between make outs, or during cuddling, or after a movie ends and they sit on his couch.

It’s the story of how Kurt took the fear afforded him after he broke a jock’s fingers in defense – an action he hated himself for – and spun into an identity. He went off the end of freshman year with rumors shrouding his steps, hid away during the summer, and came back sophomore year a different person. No longer a little budding fashionista but a rough-edged punk.

“I didn’t have to come up with any stories,” Kurt says, nuzzling up under Blaine’s chin, lying atop the other boy like a sloth. “They made them up for me. All I had to do was make a public disturbance every so often to keep up the image. Stuff that gets you detention, but nothing more. Don’t need anything to get in the away of going to college.”

_College,_ that was a conversation for another day.

“What kind of things did you do?” Blaine asks tilting his head down to press his nose into Kurt’s hair.

Kurt snorts. “Be belligerent in class. Knock slushies out of people’s hands. Walk through the hallway and not care who I knocked into. I destroyed Jacob Ben Israel’s camera once. He deserved it though. He was taking upshots of girl’s skirts... I benefited a lot from that. He labeled me a public menace on his blog.”

Blaine wraps his arms a little tighter around Kurt. That explained a lot.

“I avoided doing stuff to people…”

Blaine feels Kurt’s chest hitch in a sigh even as he doesn’t here it.

“People?” Blaine prompts.

“People who had been like me.”

…

He slides a hand through Kurt’s amongst the crowd. He interlacing their fingers as Kurt looks at him. Blaine squeezes reassuringly.

Kurt tugs his hand away. “Not at school,” he says under his breath. He looks away.

Blaine curls his fingers in, feeling the absence in his own palm.

…

Blaine just explodes with it: “I don’t our relationship to be in the closet. I don’t want to be in the closet.”

Kurt’s brow wrinkles in consternation. “Um, okay. We’re not though.”

“We sort of are,” Blaine says.

“We’ve labeled it. Mercedes – are one mutual friend – knows. My dad knows. Your parents know. How is that in the closet?... Is this about that thing at school? The handholding. Because I told you I’m not okay with PDA at school.”

“I know. I know,” Blaine quickly assures. “And I understand why you pulled away. I crossed a limit you had set. But… but it feels awfully like keeping a secret.”

“It’s about being safe.”

“And I appreciate that. But there’s a difference between being safe and acting like it’s a dirty little secret.”

“I’m assuming there is a point to this?”

“I want to tell the glee club about us,” Blaine says.

Kurt cocks his head. “You haven’t yet?”

Blaine shakes his head. “I’ve kept most of what’s happened between us, between us. Obviously they know we’re friends. And Puck seemed to know I had a thing for you before I could admit it to myself.”

“Puck?” Kurt asks. “Did he give you shit about it?”

“No,” Blaine says.

Kurt thinks on this. “I guess he sorta stopped such a jackass after joining that glee club. He used to a problem.”

“For you?” Blaine asks. Puck sure had his rough edges, but he seemed until good-hearted under them. And he was very protective of his glee mates.

“He was never the worst,” Kurt says with a shrug. “He was more of a general bully. He didn’t so much target me in particular, just all losers.” Kurt shakes his head as if shaking off the veil of an old memory.

“So?” Blaine prompts, heralding back to his original concern.

“I don’t want you to tell them,” Kurt says.

“Why not?” Blaine says with careful apathy.

Kurt shrugs one shoulder with his arms still crossed. “Why is it any of their business?”

“They’re my friends.”

“So?” Kurt challenges.

“ _So_?” Blaine echoes back. “They’re my friends. They’d be happy for me.”

Kurt’s quiet for a long stretch. Blaine waits for him.

Kurt starts his words off slowly. “Well, you asked me my opinion on this, and I think we should keep going with keeping what’s between us, between us.”

…

It had been their first, well, tiff as a couple. They had more than one rip roaring fights as friends and not-quite-friends. This was the first time they dove out of the honeymoon-esque phase of their new relationship.

It was tiny. Nothing. A concession Blaine could live with, for now.

…

Kurt has Blaine’s collar pulled askew as he works on what will probably be a very impressive hickey on the curve between Blaine’s neck and shoulder. Kurt’s straddling Blaine under the secret bleachers, though thankfully up on his knees. There is no contact between their laps, which would definitely be too much to handle, especially during lunch period.

“Kurt,” Blaine manages gasp out raspy, placing his hands on Kurt’s trim waist. “We need to cool down.” Even with no direct contact between their laps, this was still pretty intense.

Kurt unlatches  and sits back. He regularly skips class, so what’s it matter to him if Blaine misses to.

“Did I get you all hot and bothered?” Kurt teases, voice steady, though going a little pink as he says it.

“Yes,” Blaine says, now that Kurt is far enough away that he can actually breathe right.

Kurt gets up properly and moves to sit next to Blaine, hip-to-hip. “How long until you run away to class?”

Blaine checks his phone. “Seven minutes.”

“Hmm.” Kurt leans his head down on Blaine’s shoulder. “What if I fell asleep on you…would you still go to class?”

“Are you going to fall asleep on me in six minutes?” Blaine challenges.

“I could pretend.” Kurt drops his eyes close and makes a fake snore.

Blaine pokes Kurt in the side, and Kurt’s eyes peak back open. Blaine says, “Hey, I have something to ask you?”

“Yeah?”

“The glee club… our sectionals competitions are coming up soon…”

“You want me to watch your glee club compete?”

“Yeah. Will you?”

“… I’ll think about it,” Kurt says, which Blaine takes as Kurt being _too cool_ to outright agree.

They sit the rest of the fleeting minutes quietly. Blaine draws patterns on the top of Kurt’s denim-covered thigh with his fingertip, and Kurt watches him. A minute to go (he’s calculated in having the passing period to get to class), and Blaine’s phone beeps out a warning. Kurt lifts his head. He hadn’t fallen asleep.

Blaine stands with regret. This is the only place on school grounds that Kurt acted like he and Blaine were a couple.

Lifting his bag onto his shoulder, he says, “Time for class.” He feels a little stupid.

“Dork!” Kurt calls after him, but it is not ill-willed.

…

Kurt catches him up the arm in the hallway. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispers. When Blaine turns to look at him, Kurt is positively glowing.

“Yeah?”

Kurt jerks his head and leads Blaine into an empty classroom. Kurt cozies up to Blaine real quick, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s back. He pecks Blaine on the lips.

Blaine looks up at the planet diorama hanging down from the ceiling than back to Kurt. “This is nice,” he says.

“This isn’t the surprise,” Kurt says. He rubs his hands up and down Blaine’s spine, making Blaine shiver.

“What is?” he asks. He pecks Kurt back slantways, lips lingering a bit longer over his lip ring.

Kurt tongue darts out over the piercing. “Is that a kink for you?”

Blaine feels hot, and nods his head.

“I’ve noticed,” Kurt says with a wink.

Blaine reaches a thumb up and brushes it over the bar in Kurt’s eyebrow. “They look good on you.”

Kurt tilts his head up. “Admire away then, Anderson.”

“I always do,” Blaine says.

“Okay, your surprise…”

“Yes, yes. I want to hear about this,” Blaine says with a smile.

“Well, I know you’ve been kind of bummed about us staying so private about our relationship around school, so I thought of a way to make it up to you,” Kurt says.

“Oh?”

Kurt is orcastrating a surprise for him because he realized Blaine had been down.  That is so sweet.

“I’m going to take you out on a date,” Kurt says. His smile grows to make lines crinkle around his eyes.  “Our first real date… I’ve got it all planned. Of course, that’s for me to know and you to find out when we get there.”

“Wow, Kurt.”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Blaine says. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me. When is it?”

“Today, after school.”

“I have glee practice today,” Blaine says.

“I know,” Kurt says with an eye roll. “I calculated that in. After glee. That ends at four-thirty.”

Blaine grimaces. Something pleasant is already going down the drain. “We’re having a double long practice because sectionals is this weekend.”

“Ditch,” Kurt says like it’s the simplest solution.

“I can’t,” Blaine says.

Kurt lets go of Blaine and steps back. Blaine wants to chase after him, reenter into that hold.

“Sectionals is _this weekend_ ,” Blaine tries to emphasize. “I’m part of the team. I made a commitment. Can’t I get a rain check?”

Kurt crosses his arms, but looks more distressed than angry. “It has to be tonight,” he says.

“Maybe after?” Blaine proposes.

“What time do you get done?” Kurt mutters, obviously not pleased with the proceedings.

Blaine’s desperate to make this work. “Seven. Seven-thirty? Oh, then Rachel’s dads are hosting this glee club dinner thing after.  Rachel got Mr. Schue to make it a requirement, but I’m sure I can just make a polite appearance and get out of there by eight.”

Kurt starts to chew on his thumbnail, eyes darting as his mind calculates. “That’s too late,” he says.

“I know,” Blaine says, thinking Kurt’s referring to that being only a few hours short of their respective curfews. “I’m sorry. We can reschedule?”

“No. You don’t understand,” Kurt says, all irritated. “I planned for tonight.” He shakes his head, a mix of pink and brown bangs falling into his eyes. “Really, can’t you ditch after 4:30?  Five, even. For me?”

“I wish I could,” Blaine says. Part of his heart yearns to say _yes_ , to agree, but he knows he never would. New Directions needs him. It was a responsibility and obligation.

“But you won’t,” Kurt says.

“I _can’t.”_

Kurt looks more sad than mad, but that makes it more complicated. If Kurt was outright mad that Blaine had another commitment with his time… but instead he looked like his heart had been ripped out.

“We can do it next week,” Blaine says, trying to salve the wound. “I promise, I’ll love it as much then. And Sectionals will be over, so I’ll have plenty of time.”

Kurt nods. The bell rings, a warning for class. Kurt starts towards the classroom door. Blaine catches him by the arm.

“Kurt…,” Blaine starts. He needs to make sure everything is okay. He wants to know however everything tumbled so quickly downhill when it started out so good.

“Forget it,” Kurt whispers, and tugs easily away. Blaine’s not sure what exactly Kurt’s asking him to forget.

…

Kurt skips French the next day. Blaine finds Mercedes in the hall between classes and asks if she’s seen Kurt today.

“You haven’t?” she questions. It’s _Blaine_ then who is being avoided.

He expects Kurt not to be at lunch either, and have to seek him out under the bleachers, but when he walks into the cafeteria, there Kurt is, at a table by himself.

Blaine sits down next to him right away, skipping the lunch line altogether.

“You weren’t in French.”

“I didn’t feel like French,” Kurt says flippantly.

“Okay.”

“…You want something?”

“Kurt… are you okay?”

“Sure,” Kurt says.

Blaine reaches for Kurt’s hand on the tabletop, but pulls back before they make contact. Not at school. With the way Kurt’s staring at Blaine’s hand now, it must have been the right call.

“About yesterday,” Blaine starts.

“Forget it,” Kurt says with the shake of his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, then…” It is so much harder for Blaine to talk to Kurt now, now that they have opened themselves up to each other so much more. Maybe he’s more afraid of the fallout if he pushes to hard. Maybe he’s more afraid of getting wounded. Maybe they both are.

“Sectionals is tomorrow,” Blaine says.

“Oh?”

“Remember I asked you if you would come?” Blaine prompts.

Kurt takes a bite of his apple. “Yeah,” he answers after he swallows. Blaine’s too tense to push for more than monosyllabic replies.

“Well…” he pulls a slip of paper out of his pocket. “Here is the address, and the time. The glee club is going together on bus, but it’s only at a convention center like twenty minutes away.”

Kurt puts a single finger on the piece of paper and slides it over to himself. He stars down at Blaine’s loopy writing.

“Okay?” Blaine asks.

“Okay.”

Blaine feels like he can breathe easier.

“Why don’t you go sit with your glee club,” Kurt says, finally forming a sentence. “Sectionals is tomorrow, after all.”

“Yeah. Good idea.” He wishes he weren’t in school so he could lean over and kiss Kurt on the cheek.  

…

Fresh off the adrenaline of performing, his fingers are shaking as he dials Kurt’s number.

“Hey!” his breathe is catching. “Sorry I couldn’t call before. It’s been crazy. I thought I’d see you in the lobby. Did you see us?”

“Huh?” comes Kurt’s questioning tone.

“On stage?” Blaine says. Performing had always been a high for him, but New Directions was more of a triathlon than Dalton had ever been. “You weren’t in the bathroom, were you?” he teases.

“I’m not there,” Kurt says.

Blaine laughs but he’s feels only the wrong kind of funny. “What?”

“I’m not there. I’m at work.”

And it’s true. If Blaine strains his ears, he can hear mechanical tools in the background of the call.

“You said you were coming,” Blaine says, his dragged down.

“I never said that,” Kurt corrects. Blaine quickly rewinds his memories, and it’s true. Kurt never really said he was coming, but never said he wasn’t. He had lead Blaine to believe…

Blaine felt like he was drowning. His chest burned like from lack of air. His head felt sluggish as he struggled to keep up with this turn of events.

“This was really important to me,” Blaine says with his barely there voice.

“The date was important to me,” Kurt retorts.

“Was this,” Blaine says, “Was this revenge?”

His accusation hangs there, until Kurt replies coldly. “Blaine, I have customer. I can’t talk right now.” Then Kurt hands up on him.

Blaine’s hands are shaking for a completely different reason now.

Rachel grabs his arm. “They’re calling us back for the judging  already! I think we won.” She does a little happy dance. He wishes he could that elated.

He goes back out onto the stage with New Directions, just going with the tide. They win first place. Everyone is jumping around him, but how can Blaine celebrate when his heart is breaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOOOOooooo. KLaine, Why!   
> Excuse that outburst. My goal was to have klaine have relationship strife over something that was not real or perceived infidelity, so, you know, all of the relationship problems that Glee doesn't typically explore.


	12. Smoke

Everyone in New Directions returns to school on Monday with the thrum of victory going through their bones. None of them care that no one else in the school cares. They are used to this indifference. Blaine wasn’t, not from Dalton, where a single performance would get the student body buzzing the Warblers’ praises. This divergence, however, barely registers on the seismic meter of his worries. 

Blaine drifts the morning hours with a numb headache frizzing his brain so all he can manage to do is go through the motions. The first sharp emotion he feels is when the bell that summons his to French II rings. If Kurt is at school today – so far a mystery – this will be there first confrontation.

Blaine takes his seat in the front row, one spot over from the corner. The corner desk had become Kurt’s spot, but Blaine didn’t expect him to sit there today. He imagines Kurt will either skip or retreat to the back row.

No one in the class dares to take Kurt Hummel’s empty chair. They all have their favorite spots by now anyway. This is all to say that it doesn’t surprise Blaine when Kurt’s presumed seating placement remains vacant as the clock on the front wall clicks away the last thirty seconds until class starts.

Fifteen seconds to class. Blaine’s counting. Kurt appears in the doorway. His hair is upswept in a way looks careless but Blaine knows takes care. He’s been let in on the secret after all – the secret of Kurt’s performance.

Today, Kurt looks stunning as well as his regular disaffected and dangerous. It’s from the cut of his jeans, the hoodie he’s wearing and how it’s zipped so it fits slim around his waist, the scoop of his v-neck tee underneath that Blaine reads this.

Blaine tracks Kurt as he moves from the doorway to the seat next to Blaine. Kurt doesn’t make eye contact.

The bell rings for class to start. Mrs. Boggart isn’t present. She had been getting less and less prompt for class. Blaine expects her to have a breakdown any day now. If he wasn’t so preoccupied by his own issues, this might have concerned him more.

A full minute drags up. Kurt takes inordinate care arranging his books and pen on his desk. Finally, Blaine cracks.

“You’re really going to sit there?” he asks.

Kurt’s eyes flick over to him, and Blaine feels awfully unimportant under his gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks in a smooth tone.

Blaine swallows what feels like a stone, now feeling more angry than destroyed. “Like nothing happened?”

Kurt reorganizes the things on his desk before responding. “You acted like nothing happened when you ditched me.”

“That’s what this is all about? Really?” Blaine says with without expecting an answer. This is what Kurt had said on the phone, but it hadn’t seemed rationale enough. “The situations aren’t even comparable.”

“Aren’t they?” Kurt says, inspecting his fingernails.

Blaine releases a breath of air out his nose, jaw clenched. It is meant to be calming, but really makes him feel like a bull rearing for the charge. He pushes down the urge. Blaine _had_ spent all weekend alternating between wanting Kurt to call, wanting him to not, and trying to rustle up reasonable explanations.

Blaine lowers his voice before talking next. “Was it your dad? Did he need you work the weekend? Or were you worried about him?”

These reasons, of all reasons, were the ones that both made the most sense and Blaine was most understanding of. 

“No,” Kurt replies without missing a beat.

Blaine sags a little in his seat. His fallback was gone. “Is this some sort of, ‘if you don’t know why I’m mad, I’m not going to tell’ you thing?”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. “I’m not a sitcom cliché, bowtie.”

“Then I’m confused.”

“I thought I was rather clear… one for one.”

That was it then? No matter how Blaine had hoped for a better explanation, even gave him an excuse he could have adopted, there was nothing but petty payback because Blaine couldn’t make it on the date.

It’s not like Blaine hadn’t wanted to go. He was enthusiastic for it. The date could have been rescheduled. Sectionals could not, and he had an obligation to go his glee mates to be there for practice before a competition. As far as Blaine could gather, as much as he was hoping for it, Kurt hadn’t had another obligation keeping him away from Sectionals. He just hadn’t come.

Blaine’s eyes started to burn. Now he was more sad than anything else. Even the fieriest anger was damped by his heart breaking.

“I don’t understand,” Blaine says again, this time with a waver in his voice.

Kure stares straight forward and repeats himself as well. “I was clear.”

Blaine stands so suddenly it shocks Kurt into looking at him – even though Kurt does quickly tear his gaze away. Blaine doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s doing it. He collects his books into his arms and moves to the back of the classroom. There is Kurt’s other seat, the back row desk that he would sometimes take when he was being avoidant.

Blaine sits down, adjusts his things, not caring of the attention he’s gotten from some of his classmates. They don’t know him and he doesn’t know them. The only person Blaine knows – or thought he knew – was Kurt.

Kurt’s staring over his shoulder at Blaine. For the first time that encounter, his face reveals more than his cool disregard. Instead, his eyebrows are pinched together in shock, and perhaps more, like he hadn’t expected Blaine play it that way.

Mrs. Boggart comes in. Class starts. And now there is nothing to be done about it.

…

 “Oh, boo, what did you do?” It takes Mercedes until Thursday to ask. She was too taught up on Sectionals victory and trying to slice herself out a guaranteed solo at Regionals.

“What do you mean?” Blaine asks, sounding bland even to his own ears.

“You and Kurt,” Mercedes says. “You two ain’t talking, and Kurt’s been moping around like a wet mop all week… so, what you do?”

Blaine slams his locker closed and faces her. “What makes you think _I_ did something?”

“Because it’s kind of been the pattern at this point,” Mercedes says with a shrug. “You didn’t?”

“Kurt was the one who did something,” Blaine says.

 Mercedes’ lips purse as she contemplates. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks him.

“Maybe sometime,” Blaine concedes. “Not now.”

They stop outside the door of the choir room. Mercedes get very serious-faced, and says to Blaine. “I want to be very clear. I didn’t say _anything._ Which is a miracle for me, but true.”

“What are you talking about?” asks a very befuddled Blaine.

Mercedes sighs and grimaces. “You’ll see.” She enters the choir room, leaving Blaine behind. He stands confused in the hallway for a lingering moment. There’s no way to decipher her before the glee meeting, so he follows her footsteps into the room.

The room doesn’t hush at his presence, but a few of the many conversations peter off. He gets several glances, observing. Blaine does his best to ignore this anomaly as he takes a seat in the front row, dropping his satchel beside his chair.

Sam leans forward from the row behind, grips his shoulder in a reassuring manner, and says, “Tough break, buddy.”

“Huh?” Blaine says. Tina catches his eye from across the room where she’s watching him. She smiles sadly.

Brittany comes into the choir room, pinkies intertwined with Santana. She stops in front of Blaine.

“Yes, Brittany?” Blaine asks nicely. She was a sweet girl, mostly. Or at least the sweeter of the pair.

She wears a forlorn expression, then says with a grave nod, “Endings are beginnings and beginnings are ending, Butterfly. I liked imagining you two together. It was hot.”

“I… what?”

“You and Hummel split,” Santana says bluntly from behind Brittany. “I don’t see what’s appealing about fantasizing about the two of you getting it on, because I think you’re both kinda weird looking. But whatever gets Brit going works for me.”

Blaine sits in stunned silence. “I… this is going in so many directions that make me uncomfortable.”

Santana shrugs and tugs Brittany away.

“Did you and Kurt really break up?” Puck asks from the back corner. His feet are kicked up on the chair in front of him as he lazes, but his voice is a bit wobbly as he asks.

“That’s not really anyone’s business,” Blaine says, “And none of you knew if we were ever _together_.”

“Come on. It was obvious,” Rachel says. “I just don’t know why you didn’t say anything. We all sing about our relationships.”

“Some could stand to sing less,” Santana snarks.

“Some could stand to have this much talent,” Rachel retorts.

“Whatever, hawkface.”

Thankfully Santana and Rachel sniping at each other distracts from the invasive discussion of Blaine’s failing love life.   
…

Blaine collapses on the coach on the end of the week. School shouldn’t be this exhausting. His mom walks in from the kitchen, eyeing him over. He quickly stands, not liking to show his weakness, but this doesn’t fool Mom.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Blaine sighs. “Mom, I think Kurt and I are over.”

Mom opens her arms, summoning Blaine into a hug. She runs her hand up and down the space between his shoulder blades as he tucks his head down into her shoulder. He accepts the embrace like he would as a child, looking for comfort from a nightmare. What was this then, if not a nightmare lived out?

“First break ups are hard,” his mom says when she lets him go, but still holds him by the shoulders.

Blaine blinks dolefully at the floor. “It might sound silly… but I might have been falling in love with him.”

“It’s not silly,” his mom assures. “First loves are like that, like a hot flame. They burn fast and passionate, but they burn out just as quickly. Now, I’m not going to comfort you with any clichés about more fish in the sea, because I remember that about first loves as well. We all hope they will go on forever.”

…

“Mercedes… I’d like to talk now.”

Blaine and Mercedes find a spot in the choir room, and Blaine tells her the entire story, from the date proposal to the missed sectionals to now.

“And,” Blaine says with a panting breathe, “now I’m just confused. And I didn’t think it was over, because neither of us said that, but everyone else was acting like it was… so maybe we are.”

Mercedes pats Blaine on the knee. “First of all, Blaine, don’t judge yourself by New Directions dating standards. That’s a bad road… but otherwise, I agree with you. This is baffling.”

“Any insight?” Blaine asks with a shrug.

“Well,” Mercedes says with a grimace, “Kurt’s been freezing me out too.”

They sit quietly for a moment when Blaine says, “It’s hopeless.”

“Okay, none of that,” Mercedes snaps. “You’re so involved you need your head twisted on straight. There is one thing you do learn from New Directions dating, and it’s that couples can come back from pretty bad lumps.”

“I thought I wasn’t supposed to be taking lessons from New Directions dating?”

“Don’t question me,” Mercedes says, over aggrandized in a way that makes Blaine smile. She grins back, then somber as a thought comes over her. “I don’t know why Kurt did what he did, but I understand why he did it _the way_ he did.”

“Explain?” Blaine asks, tilting his head toward her.

“The Kurt we know closes himself off. He pushes people away. And by skipping out on Sectionals and being the way he was about it…  He was pushing you away.”

It made so much sense when Mercedes said it. Blaine had been pushed by Kurt before: yelled at, told to fuck off, outright ignored. But those were ways that were obvious. This time Kurt had performed a vindictive sting to get at Blaine. And why did Kurt close off or push… it was to  protect himself. That was always the reason.

Yet Kurt had finally let Blaine in. Why would he push him away now?

…

Blaine’s head was going in circles. Part of him just wanted to forgive Kurt – forget this whole incident – and get back to the part where they kiss. Another part of him was still sad and was still boiling. Kurt had hurt him, protecting himself or otherwise. He owed Blaine more than that. He should have been willing to talk things out before he had lashed out in his passive aggressive way.

Blaine didn’t know how to rectify these two parts of him.

Later he supposes his subconscious led him there. At one point last week he had found himself tracing the path to the old bleachers before he caught himself. So wondering past the auditorium doors, when really he had no need to take this path, had to be more than coincidence. So of course, he hears it. Probably his subconscious had his ears searching for the sound, that is, the sound of music.

Blaine presses his ear to the door to verify.  He hears: “ _I’ll never change all my colors for you.”_ Was that Whitney Houston?

He pushes in through the door with care, slithering through the smallest opening he can. He doesn’t want to be seen. Last time he walked in on Kurt singing, Kurt didn’t notice him until Blaine announced himself. Blaine didn’t plan on announcing himself this time. He just wants to observe.

” _I don’t want to look very much further. I don’t wanna have to go where you don’t follow…”_

Kurt isn’t singing at full voice. Blaine’s not sure anyone could, not with the way Kurt’s pacing the stage with a nervous-type energy. It’s not a performance, really, what Kurt is doing.

When Kurt reaches the chorus, he stops where he is, off center on stage, and turns to face the seating. Blaine shrinks back though he is sure Kurt can’t see him in the darkness of the doorway. Kurt belts out, “ _Don’t make me close one more door. I don’t wanna hurt anymore.”_

Kurt wraps his arms across himself, clutching at either arm, as he sings the next line, “ _Stay in my arms if you dare._ ” His voice cracks on _dare_ and Blaine fairly sure from his limited experience that it wasn’t from a lack of Kurt’s ability.

Kurt ducks his head down. He’s quieter now, but due to the acoustics and Blaine being the only audience member, he can still hear.

“ _Or must I imagine you there. Don’t walk away from me…”_ Blaine leans in to hear more as Kurt gets quieter. “ _I have nothing. If I don’t have you._ ”

Kurt stops, his words whispering off. There’s more to the song. He doesn’t sing it. Blaine sneaks out, not sure why he snuck in, in the first place. He feels unsettled.

It takes him most of the way home to figure out what he’s feeling. It’s that there is another part of him overcoming the two unrectifiable parts. Blaine wants to get to the bottom of this.

If Kurt had indeed felt the need to protect himself, Blaine had retrace, had to decode, had to work out where things had gone off track. And the only person that knows that is Kurt.

…

Blaine doesn’t make a move right away. He’s not ready yet. He watches Kurt, who moves alone through the school days back like in the beginning of the school year. Blaine wonders if Kurt is used to it, or if Blaine barging into his life to make that change makes it hard to readapt.

“Kurt’s miserable, you know,” Mercedes says.

“Well, I’m miserable too,” Blaine answers.

…

The day Blaine decides to finally talk to Kurt, Kurt is nowhere to be found.

Kurt’s Navigator, big and shiny, is still in the parking lot. It only takes a glance to check. Kurt’s not in detention (Blaine surreptitiously stopped and peered through the window in the door). He’s not in the auditorium, nor is he under the abandoned bleachers.

It’s by chance that Blaine finds him at all. A glance up, maybe at the heavens in irritation, and there’s Kurt in his peripheral vision.  A lone, dark figure parked at the top of the actual football bleachers. Kurt stands out all the more for the sleek, shiny metal background.

Blaine crosses the empty football field (there must be an away game today) and climbs up the steps. It’s impossible for Kurt to not see him coming, but he gives no indication of any kind.

It’s not until Blaine gets closer that he gets a hint of the smell of nicotine in the air, the reflexive move of Kurt’s arm, the tiny flair of spark at each inward breathe, the stream of smoke with each outward one.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Blaine says as he reaches Kurt’s level.

“I don’t,” Kurt says, taking a drag. His denial is not said with his usual, dismissive, ‘duh, you fuckhead’ sarcasm he especially displays when testy. It was just flat denial. ‘I don’t’ even though Blaine clearly sees Kurt with lit cigarette in hand, smoking.

“I’m going to go home, wash my clothes, take a shower, hide my pack, and as far as my dad knows, I don’t,” Kurt says. Then, “This is a relapse.”

“Oh.”

Kurt releases a trail of smoke between his teeth. He glances briefly sideways at Blaine, who has not taken on a seat on the bleachers next to him, but stands on the steps up. And Kurt talks, the guy who usually goes silent, just talks:

“I started smoking sophomore year back when I started everything else. It’s so stupid, to think of it now. I actually thought it made me look dangerous. I mean, seriously, no one thinks smoking’s cool anymore… But I guess it worked. In high school, maybe in life, we live by this sort visual shorthand. We use our clothes and accessories tell the world who we are. I smoke, so I’m _bad._ Someone else wear’s a letter jacket, so they’re _cool._ Like, what the fuck.”

He pauses, takes another drag. He looks at Blaine through his eyelashes. Blaine’s witnessed Kurt’s anger, his fear, his sadness… but he’s never seen Kurt seemed so drained. He keeps talking.

“I hated it at first, like when you hate coffee at first, and then after a while, it wasn’t so bad. A year goes by and you’re having one every day. And then you’re dad has a heart attack and goes into a coma, and suddenly you’re smoking almost a pack a day because it’s the only thing that gets you through without your hands shaking or vomiting in fear.”

Blaine knows that at that time in his life, Kurt didn’t have any friends, not even acquaintances. He knows Kurt doesn’t have any close (genealogically or geographically or emotionally) extended family. He would have been all alone through that. “Kurt –”

“I didn’t say all that to get pity from you. It was in the past. My dad’s better. I badger him about his health all the time since then. Made me a bit of a hypocrite, as he pointed out, to keep smoking. He hated it. _I_ hated it. It started ruining my singing voice, my breathe control, and stuff. So I stopped. But every now and then something happens and I just need a little…” He shrugs, takes another drag.

“Our _fight,_ ” Blaine says, for lack of a better word, “Was an ‘every now and then’ something?’”

 “Yeah…” Kurt says, and Blaine detects a shake in his hand as he returns the cigarette to his lips. The smoke seeps out into the air when he exhales. “You didn’t come back,” he says.

“What?” Blaine says.

Kurt takes another drag before answering. “You changed seats, and you haven’t sat next to me since. You haven’t talked to me, or texted me, or stuffed a note in my locker. You’ve always come back before… but this time you didn’t.”

“Did you expect me to?” It sounds more heated than Blaine intended.

Kurt holds back a flinch. “I guess I took it for granted that you would… Of course, when I realized you weren’t it finally came to me how much I fucked this up.” Kurt takes his eyes away from the horizon and turns them back to Blaine. They shine. “And you want to know what the worst part is?”

Blaine slides onto the bench. “If you want to tell me.”

“The worst part is that you were the only person I wanted to talk to about it all, and I couldn’t.”

 “You could’ve talked to Mercedes,” Blaine proposes, although he already knows Kurt hadn’t.

“I don’t talk to her about stuff like that,” Kurt says in a mumble.

“Or your dad?”

“He could tell something was wrong and that we had a fight because you weren’t lurking around in our house. He tried to give me some fatherly advice, but… I don’t talk to him about that stuff either. I don’t really talk to anyone about the _deep_ stuff but you.”

Blaine drums his fingers on the metal bench. “Maybe that’s the problem?”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “I know that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

“I do have _some_ self-awareness, Blaine…” He sighs, tilts his cigarette up and stares at the burning ember. “I was – I am – petty and jealous because you have other friends and other things in your life that aren’t me.”

Blaine inhales sharply. It’s coming into focus, why Kurt had lashed out in the way he did. Blaine now has a piece of the puzzle revealed to him.

Kurt’s cigarette is at its end. He snubs it out on the bleacher next to him. He ruffles through the pockets of his black, army-style jacket, and pulls out a battered pack and a lighter. With familiar motions, he lights himself up another.

“And now I’ve fucked everything up,” Kurt says, his words intermingling with his smoky breath. Here is another piece of the puzzle. Kurt blames himself for all this.

Blaine squeezes his hands together between his knees. “ _Everything’s_ sort of a broad term,” Blaine says, not sure what else to say.

“Not the time for arguing semantics,” Kurt says with no amusement. Blaine’s not really that amused either, and he’s the one who said it. Kurt flicks the ash off the end of his cigarette.

“What do you want me to say?” Kurt voice edges onto something desperate. “That I was actually at Sectionals, hiding in the back row, hood covering my pink hair? Because that would be a really great way to fix this, but it would be a lie. I wasn’t there. I did it to hurt you, intentionally and spitefully. That’s all there is to it.”

Blaine finally understands the way Kurt is talking here: his tone and the way he’s locking his words together. He’s speaking with finality. The distinct lack of excuses and apologizes are because Kurt doesn’t think there are any worth giving. He doesn’t think he can be forgiven.

Kurt thinks that he and Blaine are over.

But Blaine couldn’t let that happen, let _them_ end with a whimper. Let them fizzle out over something petty, like Kurt said.

“You did hurt me,” Blaine says, and he sees Kurt stiffen over a drag of his smoke. “But you’re assuming this is a hurt I can’t get over. That we can’t get over.”

Kurt blinks. “You mean that?”

Blaine nods. “I still don’t understand what happened and why. I guess I would like an explanation. But it’s more important that we figure out where we go from here. We can overcome this.”

“We,” Kurt says. He grins, and Blaine sees so much beauty in it. “I never like a pronoun so much before.” He stubs out his current cigarette though it’s not near done.

“And I would really like to go on that date sometime…”

“I can arrange that.” 


	13. Date Night/Come Through

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the chapter, there is a big moment where a character sings a song, in full. The lyrics are put in the story, but when the scene starts I beg you to please actually listen to the song while reading the scene. It changes *everything*. It is a song that was covered on Glee and by the same character (Spoiler: Being Alive, by Kurt).

They're sitting on the hood on Kurt's Navigator, leaned back against the windshield, watching the night sky. The seasonal constellations are clear in the darkness they only achieved by going a long ride outside of town. They're parked off the road, in an empty field. This was  _the date._

Despite Blaine's pleading and cajoling, and what Kurt called his 'expressive eyebrows', Kurt would not give hint or clue about the date location or details. All Blaine was given was 'Friday night, dress warm.'

"It's beautiful out here," Blaine comments.

"My mom used to bring us to picnics out here," Kurt says.

Kurt rarely talks about his mother. Blaine realizes he is sharing a lot with that single sentence.

"Thank you for sharing this with me," Blaine says. A crisp breeze stutters over them. Blaine hunches up his shoulders.

Kurt holds up a finger to indicate for Blaine to wait. He slides off the hood and goes into the interior of the car. He comes back with a fleece blanket in hand. When Kurt climbs back onto the hood, he settles down closer to Blaine than he had been before and shakes the blanket open over the both of them. It’s not big enough to fully cover them. Their shoes and ankles sticking out the end. It’s warmer anyway, especially since Kurt had to cuddle next to Blaine for them both to fit.

“Look.” Blaine points as the inky sky, and the brief dash of light that cut it. “A shooting star.”

Kurt’s body shifts in a sigh, more extreme than a breath. “There was supposed to be a meteor shower.”

“The original date night?” Blaine asks. Kurt doesn’t say, but an answer wasn’t needed. He rolls on his side towards Blaine, tucking his chin against Blaine’s shoulder.

“I wanted it to be perfect… and my relentless perfectionism almost screwed everything up.”

Blaine finds Kurt’s hand under the blanket and cups them together. “This is perfect,” he says.

There’s a puff of Kurt’s breath on his face. “You have low standards.” It’s supposed to be a joke. Blaine thinks it might be something more.

“Just you and me and the stars,” he says. He pulls their held hands up from under the blanket and presses a kiss to Kurt’s knuckles. “What else could be more perfect?”

Blaine doesn’t know how to interpret Kurt’s silence more than Kurt not being convinced. The boy is still wallowing in contrition.

“If I had known…” Blaine starts. Known of the un-replicable meteor shower. Know this was a special place Kurt shared with his mother’s memory. Known all the significant details that Kurt had piled onto emotional importance, more than just a gift or first date.

“You didn’t know,” Kurt says. His thumb runs over the sensitive inside of Blaine’s wrist. “Because I didn’t tell you… Even if you did know, it wasn’t fair that I asked you to skip out on your commitments. You wouldn’t ask me to skip out on my dad if he needed me… And it’s okay. You’re all earnest and shit, it’s one the reasons I like you so much.”

“Any other reasons?” Blaine asks, biting his lip.

Kurt props up on his elbow. He makes a face like he’s thinking hard about it. After a moment he shrugs as much as he can in his position, and says, “I don’t know… I actually always thought the bowties were kinda cute.”

Blaine’s eyes go wide. “Really, now?”

“But don’t go telling anyone I said that.” Kurt leans over and kisses Blaine lightly on the mouth. The car hood was not a conducive place for more rigorous activities. Maybe the backseat, maybe later. Blaine’s content with now.

Kurt settles down, eyes back to the stars. “In a different life,” he says, “I could see myself pulling off some bowties.”

“You’d be extremely dapper,” Blaine assures as he imagines it.

“I’d go more high fashion than preppy, though. You bring enough prep for the both of us.”

Blaine extends a quick arm towards the sky. “There’s another,” he says, at a shooting star.

“You’ll see a lot when it’s dark and you’re patient enough to watch,” Kurt says.

He must have come here before to watch the night sky. Maybe he used to perch on this car hood all by himself and take solace in a lonesomeness that felt immense and meaningful when the wonders of the universe were stretched before him.

“Aren’t you supposed to make wishes on shooting stars?” Blaine asks. He wonders if Kurt, in his lonesome, took comfort in those. He knew Kurt didn’t believe in god, didn’t have prayers, even vague and agnostic ones, as an outlet. Did wishes do him any good?

“Do you really believe in that?” Kurt says. It’s not harsh, but it not hopeful either.

“Doesn’t hurt,” Blaine replies.

“I prefer reality,” Kurt says. “Fucked as is it. It’s all we got.”

They watch the night sky. Blaine catches two more shooting stars, but keeps quiet about them. He does, however, decide to reveal his secret. 

“I saw you singing the other week, before we made up,” Blaine says, maybe an explanation. He saw Kurt’s apology and his plea, even if he hadn’t been brave enough to perform it for Blaine personally. 

“You saw that?” There’s shock through Kurt’s entire being.

“I did… was it about me?”

“What do you think?” Kurt says, then, honestly, “Yes… You make me feel connected, Blaine. More alive than I have felt in years. I’ve just been surviving.” Kurt’s voice gets all twisted around and it takes Blaine a moment to recognize it, because he’s only witnessed it once before. Kurt’s crying.

“Shit,” Blaine swears. He sits up to get a better sight of Kurt, who’s already rubbing at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve. Kurt shakes his head like ‘ignore it’ but Blaine can’t.  

“What’s the matter?” Blaine asks, panic edged in his tone.

Kurt must know that he can’t get away with waving this off, saying ‘nothing’ or ‘forget it’ so he fesses up.

“You make me feel safe, Blaine,” he bursts out with. “And grounded, and happy. I go out of my way not to get detention so I can hang out with you after school. I don’t ditch school as much because it means I can see you more. I swear to god, every time Miss Pillsbury sees me in the hall she looks like she is going to start crying in happiness. I’m her fucking success story, or at least she doesn’t have to deal with me anymore. And my dad! My dad is even less stressed out over me.”

“I don’t see the problem in all that,” Blaine says.

Kurt sits up to, scrubbing roughly as his face with his sleeve. His face is blotchy in a way that only comes from intense emotions.

“Me,” Kurt says. “I’m the problem. I’m rude. I’m mean. I swear too much. I have an intermittent smoking problem. I yell at you too much. I overreact. I can’t communication my feelings. I won’t hold your hand at school or let you tell your friends about us. I’m a fucking mess and you are there for me time and time again. I’m an emotional drain and just don’t see what you get out of this – of us. And I’m worried that one day you’re going to wonder that too.” Kurt stops, takes some heavy inhales after those rushed words.

“Kurt,” Blaine says. He settles a hand, now cold from the night air, over Kurt’s jaw. “You inspire me.”  

Kurt sniffles loudly. “What does that mean?”

“You are so brave, Kurt. I see it every day you walk into that school. You stood up to your bullies in ways I could never imagine. You never broke and you never turned hard. Yeah, you’re rough around the edges. I get that. But you have so much heart. You care so much about the people you let in, it is no wonder you’re so selective. Most people don’t give that much to their friends. You care about the random girl’s Jacob Ben Israel was filming. You care so much that you feel guilty for defending yourself from the guy who was moments away from assaulting you. You let yourself become the villain in everyone’s eyes.”

“When you say it like that…” Kurt starts tentatively. “You make me sound all heroic.”

“Exactly,” Blaine says. He sees the protest brewing underneath Kurt’s eyes. He leans in and kisses Kurt before the boy can voice them. “You make me feel like I could do anything. And despite any ups and downs, you make me feel…”

Blaine couldn’t find the word for the sunshine warmth of Kurt. _Love_. It’s too soon for that, but as soon as Blaine contemplates it, he’s sure that it’s true. He does love Kurt. And he feels love when he’s with Kurt. But it’s too soon, too soon to say.  

“You move me,” Blaine says instead.

Kurt squeezes his eyelids shut hard, and a tear seeps out.

“Oh, no,” Blaine says. He is supposed to be stopping the crying.

Kurt catches Blaine’s wrist. “It’s okay. It’s a different type of tears.”

A few minutes later, emotions slightly settled, it’s decided that it’s getting too cold and too late. The radio is set hum-low as Kurt’s drives them back to town.

At one point a Lady Gaga song comes on and Kurt sings along in a quiet voice. He’s never had Blaine’s attention more. When the song fades into a commercial, Kurt voice cuts off.

After the commercial break, a John Mayer song starts playing, and Blaine says, “You really are a beautiful singer.”

Unlike last time, Kurt doesn’t react badly to his voice being heard. “Thank you,” Kurt says. They leave it at that. 

Outside Blaine’s house, before Blaine gets out of the Navigator, Kurt says: “I’m not quite sure that I’m that person you said out there. That hero. But you make me want to be.”

They spend a few minutes on a goodnight kiss. Blaine stands on the front stoop unlike Kurt’s taillights have disappeared. He goes inside and flops like he’s high on air itself onto the living room coach.

Mom walks in a few moments later, Blaine still sprawled.

“I thought I heard you,” she says. She tilts her head to look at him. “I’m glad you two were able to work it out.”

Blaine takes a deep breath. She starts to leave.

“Mom,” he says. She pauses, right beside him. He looks up at her. “Remember when I said I thought I was falling in love?” The implication is clear.

Mom reaches down and brushes a wayward curl, loosed by the wind, off his forehead. “You’re all grown up, then, aren’t you?” she says with the worry of any mother, watching their child move into the big, scary things of the world.

…

Kurt waits for Blaine after glee, leaning up against the lockers outside of the choir room. When Blaine exits and they catch sight of each other, both smile. Kurt pushes off the lockers and goes right over to Blaine, even though the glee kids are still there. He stops right in front of Blaine, just inches apart, more intimately close than friends would stand.

“Hey,” Kurt says. “Coffee?”

“Sure. I promised my mom I’d be home by seven tonight, though.”

“That’s plenty of time.”

“I’m glad you two are all lovey-dovey again,” Mercedes says to them. “Honestly, you two are more exhausting not talking then when you’re being all…”

“Moony-eyed?” Blaine suggests.

“Exactly,” Mercedes agrees, ticking her finger at him.

“Hey, Mercedes, did you get my text?” Kurt asks her.

Something devious sparks in Mercedes’ eye. “Yes. Want to meet up tomorrow after glee?”

“Perfect. My place?”

“What’s going on?” Blaine asks.

Completely changing the topic, Mercedes says, “Well, I actually have plans with Sam this afternoon, so I have to get going.” Indeed, Sam is waiting at his locker just a bit down the hall.

“Nice,” Kurt says. “Get some.” Mercedes and Kurt do a weird little hand shake thingie because presumably they are too cool for a high five.

“So what’s going on with you and Mercedes?” Blaine asks Kurt directly.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” Kurt says with a wink.

“Well as long as the two of you aren’t cheating on me together,” Blaine teases. They start down the emptied hall. Kurt slips his hand into Blaine’s as they walk. Kurt doesn’t call attention to it, so Blaine doesn’t either.

“Don’t worry,” Kurt says. “Mercedes is beautiful, but she’s not my type. You, however, are definitely my type.”

“And what’s that?”

Kurt stops inside the school doors. He drops Blaine’s hand so he can face him. “Sure you want to know that?”

“Yeah.”

“Sings… has a weird obsession with bowties… triangular eyebrows… initials are B.A.”

“That’s oddly specific,” Blaine says with a grin.

“Guess I’m lucky I met you, huh?”

…

Kurt stands in the open choir room doorway. He knocks on it and gets everyone’s attention. Blaine sits up hard in his chair.

“Can I help you, uh, Kurt?” Mr. Schue says from the whiteboard, marker in hand, half of the word that starts with ‘Con-‘ written slantways. Kurt is not in any Spanish class, so he must only know the kid from other means, perhaps from stories of Miss Pillsbury’s.

“Yeah,” Kurt says. “I want to audition.” 

There’s shocked mutters around the room, exactly like a movie cliché.

“You want to audition?” Mr. Schue repeats back, his nervous coming out in his lack of enthusiasm.

“It’s my understand from –,” Kurt motions a hand towards Mercedes, who’s sitting beside Blaine, “That you except auditions all year.”

Mercedes raises her chin and eyes in true diva fashion, awaiting slings and arrows of her gleemates. There gazes instead are directed at Kurt, standing stoic, rather than Mercedes.

“Can you even sing?” Santana demands with a sneer.

Kurt pulls a folded over piece of sheet music from his bag. He flattens it out on the piano top and then hands it to Brad, who takes it in his fingers like its gold and he’s never seen gold before. “I even brought the music.”

“Whether he can sing or not isn’t the issue,” Rachel says.”We’re vying for Nationals this year. We don’t need any negative influences.”

“You let Puckerman in,” Kurt protests.

“He has a point,” Mike agrees, as Puck nods sagely.

“We don’t deny anyone a chance to audition,” Mr. Schue says politically as he reluctantly caps his pen, his lesson well interrupted by now. Rachel huffs and cross her arms. “Whenever you’re ready, Kurt.”

For the first time, the nerves show as Kurt shifts weight between his feet and clears his throat. He positions himself by the piano as Mr. Schue takes a seat with the rest of the glee club. Kurt takes an audible breath, he looks up, right at Blaine. Blaine gives him a nod and Kurt returns it with a wavering grin. Kurt motions for Brad to begin.

The piano notes are not instantly recognizable to Blaine, but he hears Rachel whisper to Finn behind him “I can’t believe he’s singing Sodhiem.”

Kurt starts, the first line coming out soft but solid:

_Someone to hold you too close,_

_Someone to hurt you too deep,_

_Someone to sit in your chair,_

_To ruin your sleep._

There is a brief pause in lyrics, but it only took those few lines to change the attitude of the room. This wasn’t a joke. Kurt could sing, and nothing like they expected. Mr. Schue was already leaning forward in his chair, judgment gone. He’s interested.

Not being immediately jeered bolsters Kurt’s confidence, as he comes back stronger – in voice and in posture— for the next verse.

_Someone to need you too much,_

_Someone to know you too well,_

_Someone to pull you up short_

_And put you through hell._

Kurt looks right to Blaine for the next set of lyrics, and Blaine gets that he’s being sung to. He’s not stupid. He’s listening to the lyrics. He knows what is being said. The band, of course, has chimed in seamlessly.

_Someone you have to let in,_

_Someone whose feelings you spare,_

_Someone who, like it or not,_

_Will want you to share_

_A little, a lot._

It hits Blaine then, the immensity of what Kurt’s doing here, and what he is sharing. He blinks to clear his vision, for he feels in a dream state. Or perhaps Kurt is just that otherworldly. This was the boy, who just this past Friday was crying about how he didn’t think he was good enough for Blaine. And here he is, amazing Blaine beyond comprehension.

_Someone to crowd you with love,_

_Someone to force you to care,_

_Someone to make you come through,_

_Who’ll always be there,_

_As frightened as you_

_Of being alive,_

_Being alive,_

_Being alive._

Mercedes grips Blaine’s arm as Kurt repeats the ‘being alives’, his notes holding out more and more.

Kurt’s not just a singer, Blaine realizes, but a performer. Every word sung, every note projected into the air… Blaine could hear the emotion behind the words – which is more than any voice lesson could teach. He sees it too, on Kurt’s features, where he is holding none of his emotion back. He’s not hiding behind his protective mask, not now.

_Somebody, hold me too close,_

_Somebody, hurt me too deep,_

_Somebody, sit in my chair_

_And ruin my sleep_

_And make me aware_

_Of being alive,_

_Being alive_

Blaine wishes that he could see the expressions from the rest of the glee club, but he’s sitting in the front row and can’t tear his eyes away from Kurt. Kurt, the consummate performer who has actually never willingly performed for anyone before, makes sure to not just stare at Blaine the whole time, but gives his attention to the whole room, his whole audience. Blaine just imagines they are all as enamored with the performance as he is. 

  
_Somebody, need me too much,_

_Somebody, know me too well,_

_Somebody, pull me up short_

_And put me through hell_

_And give me support_

_For being alive,_

_Make me alive,_

_Make me alive,_

As the music swells, so does Blaine’s heart.

_Make me confused,_

_Mock me with praise,_

_Let me be used_

_Vary my days._

_But alone is alone, not alive._  
  
Kurt performs each note with perfection, hitting and holding every single one. Mercedes hand might being cutting off Blaine’s circulation when Kurt hits the ‘alive’ high note.

With a final passion, attention diverted back to Blaine, Kurt demands the room with an even more increased magnetism. When he demands the things in the lyrics of the song, you believe and you want to give it to him.

_Somebody, crowd me with love,_

_Somebody, force me to care,_

_Somebody, let me come through,_

_I’ll always be there,_

_As frightened as you,_

_To help us survive_

_Being alive,_

_Being alive,_

_Being alive!_

The song ends. Kurt’s chest heaves as he collects his breathe. Blaine’s too stunned to move, but Mercedes’ applauds very enthusiastically. This gets the rest of the club going with a respectable round of clapping.  Most of them might be stunned to. This is very much not the Kurt they think they know.

Kurt arches an eyebrow up and slouches back into a lean. It’s all posturing, going back to a comfortable safe place after exposing so much.

Mr. Schue stands and walks over to Kurt. “Well, I think I speak for everyone when I say you’re in. Good job.” He pats Kurt on the shoulder and Kurt glares at his hand.

Having Kurt in New Directions might be an interesting ride.


	14. Shirtless

“That was amazing,” Blaine tells Kurt after glee. They didn’t have a chance to speak during practice, but Kurt had sat smugly next to him.

“I know,” Kurt says. His fingers dance through his bangs. “I meant every word of it.”

Blaine shifts his satchel-strap on his shoulder, barring himself for the next inquiry. “You didn’t do this because you still feel guilty, right?” He thinks of Kurt holding his hand in school hallway – albeit empty— the other day. He thinks of this now: Kurt singing in front of other people, Kurt acknowledging their relationship, Kurt joining glee club. These are all actions Kurt had hurdled himself against before.

“I did it because I wanted to be brave as you think I am,” Kurt says.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

“I do have something to prove to _me_ though…” Kurt looks at the ceiling before back at Blaine, “You don’t think I find _you_ inspiring? You brave? You, the guy who’s faced worse than me and is able to go on living, not hiding who you are?”

“You make it sound like more than it is,” Blaine says, not thinking.

Kurt tilts his head and smirks in a friendly way. “My, how the tables have turned.”

…

“You’re one of us now.”

Kurt squints up at Blaine. “What’s that supposed to mean? And why are you smiling so big?”

“Come sit at the glee table,” Blaine says.

Kurt looks past Blaine’s shoulder at the glee club members crowded tightly around a single table in the lunchroom. “I don’t think so,” he says.

“So you’re just going to sit here by yourself?”

“Worked so far.”

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asks.

“Why doesn’t something have to be wrong,” Kurt says very quickly, and very betraying that something is wrong. Blaine waits and Kurt tells without any prompting. “Being in the glee club means I can sing. It doesn’t mean I’m their friend.”

“You think they don’t want you at their table?”

“I know it,” Kurt says.

“I want you there,” Blaine says. “Mercedes wants you there. We’re part of the glee club.”

“Exceptions to the rule,” Kurt says snidely.

Blaine sits down across from Kurt, getting down to eye level. “What’s really stopping you?” he asks, voice quieter. It’s the quiet that allows Kurt to speak. When Kurt has to yell to be heard, he’s not nice about it. When someone cares to give him the space and time, he might let out a grain of truth.

“They don’t like me,” Kurt says, tone a little higher than normal.

“They don’t know you,” Blaine says in return. He spans his arm across the width of the table and brushes his fingertips across the top of Kurt’s wrist. It’s a little, physical reassurance when Kurt has gotten all un-assured. “Give them a try.”

Kurt’s shoulders shift from tight-across and raised to a more natural slump. He’s putting down his fight stance. “I’ll give it a try.” As Blaine beams, Kurt makes sure to rush on some addendums, “But it doesn’t mean everyday and it doesn’t mean I won’t get up and leave if I ever feel like it.”

Blaine knows this all means yes. Kurt picks up his lunch, half set out but none eaten yet, and follows Blaine over to the table glee club had infested this lunch period. Kurt has none of the then enthusiasm that Blaine had in his practically skipping steps.

Mercedes smiles up at Kurt’s arrival, and nudges out the chair next to hers. Blaine rushes through the lunch line so he can get his food and get back to the table before anything explodes without him there to play referee or buffer. He’s not sure which is more relevant. Probably both. Definitely both. Both is good.

When he returns, the spot exactly across from Kurt is clear for Blaine, and Blaine takes it without hesitance. With the glee club growing, it was getting crowded at their table, especially when everyone decided to eat together, like today.

Mercedes is having a one-way conversation with Kurt as is hunched over his food, like he was trying to spout a turtle shell out of his back to hide under. Blaine nudges Kurt’s foot under the table with his own. Kurt gives him a waning smile.

The three of them – Blaine, Mercedes, and Kurt – make small conversation between snacking on their food. Blaine wills someone else to engage Kurt (just not Santana, because that would probably end with an insult showdown, or murder) so Kurt wouldn’t feel proved in his unwantedness. Perhaps Blaine should have preplanned, convinced one of his glee mates to be a welcoming committee, but that would have been disingenuous.  

Blaine catches Mike looking down their end of the table (he’s the second spot down from Mercedes with Tina being the only person between the two). Blaine gives him a pleading look, dipping his eyebrows in exaggeration.

Mike clears his throat, and Blaine contains his fist pump of victory. “Hey… Kurt.” Mike leans forward on his elbows. Kurt slants his eyes over to Mike, and Blaine can read the wariness in them. “How do you like glee so far?” Mike almost winces at how inane the question is. But Blaine is okay with it. It’s safe, polite, an icebreaker.

“I’ve only been to one practice,” Kurt says. “So… it’s tolerable.”

Rachel ‘hmmph’s loudly from diagonally across from Mike. Oh, Rachel, she could be incendiary too.

It’s wasn’t in Kurt’s nature to back down. Or, at the very least, it wasn’t in the way Kurt guarded himself to back down.

Kurt looks right at Rachel, who is picking at a salad and has her nose up in the air, and says, “You have something to say?”

It’s a gauntlet being thrown down. The entire table is paying attention. People like Tina, Mike, Mercedes, and Sam look worried. Santana, and to a lesser extent Puck, look excited for a throw down. Brittany looks confused as always.

“I was just thinking,” Rachel says sharply, “That I didn’t expect someone like you to appreciate the immense importance of what we’re doing in New Directions.”

“Someone like me?” Kurt’s goading and serious at the same time. Blaine’s sure he can do nothing to stop this. Even if he managed to distract Kurt away from this confrontation now, it would happen sooner or later.

“A slacker,” Rachel says in a vicious, hushed tone like it’s the worst kind of slur.

Kurt freezes for a second. A wrinkle of confusion forms on his brow. This is surely not what he expected. Kurt is used to all manner of insults ranging from him being gay to him being somewhat effeminate to him being a delinquent.

“Do you know,” Rachel says, “How much effort I put into cultivating my talent? How much time I put into this glee club, so that we can be winners? You know what winners do?” Her eyes are wild wide. “They get into the best performing arts colleges. They become _stars._ You know who doesn’t become stars?”

“Slackers,” Kurt says with an eye roll, cutting off her rant.

Rachel sucks in a breath.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Kurt says.

“I know that you skip class all the time. I know that you get detention so much they make you meet with Miss Pillsbury. I know you lit someone on fire,” Rachel machine guns off.

“I’ve never lit anyone on fire,” Kurt grits out. “But I sure see the appeal.”

Someone snorts in laughter.

“Tina!” Rachel says aghast.

“I’m sorry,” Tina says, hand half-covering her mouth. “It was funny.”

“It was a good burn,” Santana agrees, eyeing Kurt with approval. Blaine pounders something worse than Kurt and Santana fighting would be Kurt and Santana joining forces.

Artie laughs this time, because, pun.

“What did you use to say, Puck, back when you first joined glee club, about Rachel and fire?” Tine says.

“Oh,” Puck’s eyebrows shoot up. “I used to say that Rachel made me want to light myself on fire.”

“Noah,” Rachel snaps.

Puck puts his hands up in defense. “That was before we ever made out.” (“Gross,” Santana commentates.) “Now, I’ve gotten used to you. And can tune you out when necessary.” He actually sounds like he’s trying to be nice.

Rachel looks ready to melt concrete.

Tina steps in again, abnormally talkative. “I want win Nationals and become a star as much as like everyone else at the table. Kurt hasn’t done anything to compromise that. And he’s an amazing singer. So give him a break before you go all Rachel Berry crazy on him.”

Rachel stands, her chair screeching back. She pats down her skirt, picks up her tray, and walks snappily away.

Everyone at the table gives each other ‘not again’ looks, a bit bemused or otherwise annoyed. It’s a look Kurt is not privy too.

Mercedes pats Kurt on the shoulder. “You just witnessed your first Rachel Berry walk out. Welcome to New Directions.”   

“Don’t mind Rachel that much,” Tina says, leaning a little across Mercedes to talk to Kurt, “I think she’s a little jealousy at how well you were singing Broadway. That’s kind of her _thing._ ”

Thankfully Rachel shows up at glee club so no one has to go out and woo her into returning. She does however, sing “Maybe This Time” for all and dedicates it to her unappreciated leadership skills. She is appeased with moderate applause and Mr. Schue saying, “Well, that was… impassioned, Rachel, thank you.”

Afterwards, as they share their walk to the parking lot, Blaine asks Kurt, “So, second glee practice down, any more than tolerable?”

Kurt huffs. “It’s even stranger than I expected it to be.”

…

From Blaine to Kurt: _Are you working today?_

From Kurt to Blaine: _No. I’m spending the afternoon in._

Fifteen minutes later Blaine is at Kurt’s front door, knocking. Kurt opens with a puzzled expression with what looks like pieces of tin foil folded into the front of his hair.

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asks.

“Surprise?” Blaine tries. Kurt steps back, allowing Blaine entrance. “What are you…?” Blaine asks, pointing at the foil.

“Re-dying the pink,” Kurt says. “Do you think it grows in that way?” Kurt tugs up the zipper on his hoodie jacket almost throat high, and it draws attention to what he’s trying to hide, what had been the bare skin of his chest peaking out in the gap.

“You can’t pull a shirt over your hair when you have bleach and dye in it,” Kurt mumble-explains.

“Do you want me to go?” Blaine asks.

“You don’t have to go,” Kurt mumbles even lower. Kurt leads Blaine to his room to wait through the countdown until Kurt can rinse the dye out.

When Kurt’s phone chirps its alarm Kurt stretches up from the bed. “I’ll be right back.” Blaine gets up too. Kurt pegs him with a look. “It’s not that interesting.”

“I’ve never seen hair get dyed before,” Blaine says, which is true but not why he wants to follow. He came here to be around Kurt.

Kurt saunters down the hall to the bathroom. “Do you need any help?” Blaine asks as he follows Kurt in.

“You realize I’m going to take my top off,” Kurt says instead of an answer.

“Do you want me to go?” Blaine asks for a second time, somehow here more heated. He remembers this bathroom well, being shirtless here and Kurt passing him clothes to borrow through the gap in the door.

Blaine has, of course, been in this bathroom since. But not with Kurt. Why would he?

Kurt leans back against the sink, says himself again, “You don’t have to go.”

Kurt puts on some plastic gloves to protect his fingers then peels the foil away from his dye-covered hair. Blaine waits by the door.

“You can help,” Kurt says to him.

Blaine stands up straight, ready. “How?”

 Kurt fiddles with his zipper pull. “Rinse out my hair?”

Kurt tells Blaine to sit on the edge of the tub by the faucet, and that he should probably roll his sleeves up. Blaine takes his cardigan completely off instead, leaving him in a clinging polo. Kurt strips out of his hoodie, hanging over the towel rack, avoiding Blaine’s eyes as he does so.

Kurt sits on the floor, propped up over the edge of the tub. He tilts his head back, eyes gently closed. Blaine tries not to stare too much, like at how Kurt’s pale skin stretches from neck to waistband or at how the lightest freckles are speckled across his shoulders, or at his belly button.

“Go on,” Kurt says.

Blaine plays with the tub facet until he gets a stream of water that is comfortably lukewarm. He fills a cup that Kurt had tossed to him earlier. He pours the water at the Kurt’s hairline, and it runs back over his hair, dribbling into the tub tinged the color of bubblegum.

He fills and pours a second cupful, chasing his fingers through Kurt’s hair after like a comb. Kurt shivers, and says, eyes still closed, “You’re going to get pink fingers.”

“I don’t care,” Blaine says. He repeats the steps again and again, until the water that drips out off of Kurt is clear. He repeats it afterwards, again, anyway.

Kurt eyes peak open. He catches Blaine hand with his own as Blaine is still combing it through Kurt hair.

“That’s enough,” he says, voice raspy. Blaine nods, throat stuck.

“Pass me a towel,” Kurt whispers. Blaine follows the command. Kurt spends a minute or two tousle drying his hair. It’s a mess when he’s done. Kurt drops the towel to the bathroom floor, moves to sit on the edge of the tub too, and presses a long kiss to Blaine’s mouth.  

Blaine’s hands fly to Kurt’s sides, where they meet the soft of his skin. He needs to feel more. So pulls Kurt in closer, running his palms up Kurt’s back. All of Kurt’s shyness has dissolved.

Kurt tugs at the fabric of Blaine’s shirt, edging it inches up. Blaine gets the idea, detaches himself enough from Kurt, only temporary and with great reward, to get his polo up and over his head.

The sensation of torso against torso, skin again skin, Kurt’s blunt fingernails raking is so much, they liquefy into it. It’s all quick, all passion, little thought. It’s all soul crushes against soul at some point, any physical feelings just a gateway to what it means to be so close to someone, like you could meld into someone, become one.

“Hey, Kurt, you home?” yells a voice from downstairs, and it’s like a gong waking them back to consciousness. Blaine slips right off of the edge of the tub onto the floor – a thankfully small drop. Kurt falls the other way, towards inside the tub, but he catches himself against the wall with an out sprung arm.

“Shit,” Kurt swears, then yell-replies to his father, voice squeaking, “Yes!”

“Is Blaine here?” Burt asks hesitantly.

Kurt squeezes his eyes shut in a sort of wince. He clears his throat before answering more clearly but with more resignation, “Yes.”

A floorboard squeaks. Burt says, “I’m just going to… stay downstairs for a few minutes.”

Kurt groans, “Oh my God.”

Blaine pulls himself up from the floor as Kurt stands, and the bathroom seems too small for the both of them. Kurt inches around Blaine to the towel rack where his hoodie hangs still.

“Put your shirt on,” Kurt says as he puts on his hoodie. “And make sure you don’t look like we’ve been fooling around.”

Blaine scoops up his half inside out polo from the floor. “We have been fooling around.”

“I mean the fully euphemistic fooling around.” Kurt zips up his hoodie sharply.

Kurt’s hair is a mess anyway, but he takes a moment in front of the mirror to tame the still damp locks. Kurt’s hands hadn’t messed up Blaine’s slicked over do. Both of them had been more interested in new explorations than each other’s hair.

“You buttoned it wrong,” says Kurt before either of them exit the bathroom. Kurt stands close enough to hear him breathe as he corrects the buttons of Blaine’s cardigan.

“There.” Kurt smoothes his hand down the front, “Perfect.”

…

A few days later, Kurt tells Blaine, “My dad gave me _the talk_ because of that bathroom incident. It was horrifying.”

“We should probably come up with another name for it than the ‘bathroom incident.’ That sounds potentially gross.”

“Well, ‘bathroom incident’ is more concise than ‘surprise shirtless makeout incident’.” Kurt says casually.

It’s amazing, even if they are both simultaneously blushing, there is no hiding or running from the facts here. An improvement, Blaine thinks. A conscious step forward. Yet again.

He hopes to take many more steps with Kurt.

…

Of course, first came repeating that step they had previously experimented with. It’s over a week past the ‘bathroom incident’  before they had the time and privacy to make out again. They are in Kurt’s bedroom (Kurt’s house is closer to school and Blaine’s Mom worked from home a whole lot, thus Kurt’s bedroom became the default best place for such shenanigans).

They’re limbs are knotted together as they are half leaned across the bed. Kurt’s fingers grip hard at Blaine’s waist, and Blaine likes the almost sting of them. Any tighter and those fingers might cause bruising, but now they were just the right amount of squeeze. It’s like Kurt’s not willing to let him go.

Kurt does let go, but only to grip his fingers in the sides of Blaine’s shirt instead. The action, intentionally or not, pulls the hem of Blaine’s polo untucked. Kurt’s thumb brushes down, contacting with the tiniest sliver of skin exposed above his waistband for the tiniest second.

Kurt sets his forehead against Blaine as he eases out of a heavy kiss. “Do you want to…?”

There is no need to fill in the details.

Dazed from being so drunk on intimacy with Kurt, Blaine blinks hard. “Should we talk about this?” he says. Isn’t that the proper way for a boyfriend to be? To make sure everything is above board on what they are doing or are willing to do?

Kurt giggles. It’s like ectasy to Blaine’s ears.

“I knew you would say that,” Kurt says. He leans back from Blaine, letting go of his hold on Blaine’s shirt. He’s sitting up on his knees now. Blaine pops up onto his elbows, watching Kurt.

“We don’t need to have a big conversation about this. If you don’t want to, say no, say it’s too fast. I’ll respect that. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings,” Kurt says, all genuine, no snark. “And I’m not asking for anything more right now. Just you and me, doing what we just left off.”

“Shirtless,” Blaine elaborates.

“Do you want me to be shirtless?” Kurt asks coyly.

“Do _you_ want to be shirtless?” Blaine turns it around. Kurt had focused his speech on Blaine not being pressured into anything. Blaine wants to make sure Kurt feels the same way. No pressure.

Kurt crosses his arms in front of himself, grabs his shirt hem, and pulls his shirt off in a singular move that had to have been practiced it was so sexily perfect.

Blaine let’s his eyes linger. Last time had been rushed in the heat of the moment. Now was a moment Blaine was being invited to look. Kurt’s lean and pale-skinned. He’s nice to look at. He’s not a Calvin Klien ad, and neither is Blaine, but who is, and Blaine doesn’t care anyway. Kurt is one of a kind.

“You’re beautiful,” Blaine says. A fleeting expression, Kurt rolls his eyes. Blaine catches it. He resituates himself on his knees too, and leans in. “You need to stop disbelieving my compliments.”

How many years had Kurt lived without a kind word, that now when Blaine gave them freely Kurt couldn’t believe them? Maybe it wasn’t enough to say. Maybe it needed to be shown.

Blaine presses his lips softly against Kurt’s, sucking his bottom lip in-between his briefly before pulling back enough to then kiss along Kurt’s jaw, and more, down his neck. Kurt arches into Blaine’s affections, a heavy breathe in place of words.

Blaine rings a forearm around Kurt’s back, dipping back flat onto the bed as he continued his mouth lower: across Kurt’s collar bone, down the center of his chest, wandering across his abdomen, a trail of light kisses.

He gets as low as he dares, then props his chin up on Kurt’s belly button. “You’re beautiful,” he says.

Kurt’s fingers graze through Blaine’s hair, where they can catch. A scratchy-voiced Kurt demands, “Get up here.” Blaine obliges.

Kurt smashes his mouth against Blaine’s. There is absolutely no technique to it, but the pure _want_ of it is appreciated. His hand is planted against Blaine’s cheek. He uses it to hold Blaine there when he pulls away, staring eye-to-eye with him in a way that is too close to focus. Neither wants to draw back further.

“You always say such nice things to me,” Kurt says. “I want you to know that I think you are _so_ charming and _so_ handsome. I don’t know how I got so lucky. You’re a dream.”

Blaine turns his head in Kurt’s hold so he can kiss Kurt’s palm. Kurt curls his hand in like he’s trying to catch it, hold it, contain it forever. He drops his hand down to Blaine’s side, his thumb catching the side seam of Blaine’s shirt, but he doesn’t pull at it now.

Blaine sits up just enough to start taking off his shirt.

“You don’t have to—“ Kurt starts.

“I want to,” Blaine says, assured.

In his haste, Blaine gets caught in his own sleeve, making Kurt snicker. He’s going to have to practice this. Or maybe have Kurt help him take it off next time. (And perhaps he can take off Kurt’s, if Kurt’s willing to risk Blaine’s clumsiness.)

Still sitting up, Blaine says, “We are going to have to have that long conversation at some point.”

“I’m sure you’ll make sure it happens,” Kurt says back.

Blaine settles down again, lying next to Kurt. It’s reminiscent to that day that feels so long past where they napped together. Of course, this moment is also a million ways different, because Kurt is flush against him, his palms running up and down as they explored exposed skin, and Kurt’s tongue is in his mouth as they make out in a comfortable, lazy speed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: 1) I missed updating last week because I was behind on writing this fic. I’m still behind, but here we are... I managed enough to update. 2) I actually wrote that kissing scene before the klain kissing scene in New New York. IDK, if that is important or not. 3) Rachel is absurdly fun to write. I feel like this chapter may make it look like I hate her, but I don't (well, it's complicated) but she's fun to write being such a over the top person.


	15. Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter I'm introducing a polarizing character in the Glee/Klaine fandom. (It's Sebastian). I just want you to know that I plan to use this character strategically, that he will not dominate the rest of the story, nor will he get away with as much shit as he did in canon. Honestly, I just wanted to see skank Kurt and Sebastian up against each other,... but then it ended up being harder to write than I thought. Anyway, here is the long awaited character. I hope you enjoy it.

“I got a list of who’s going to be our competition at Regionals.”

Sam, Finn, and Mike do a drum roll their knees to amp the room up for the announcement. Mr. Schue enjoys it too much.

“Our old competition,” Mr. Schue starts,  “Aural Intensity.”

Kurt leans over to Blaine. “Is that a real name? Is he joking?”

Before Blaine can give answer – Aural Intensity is indeed a legit high school glee club – Mr. Schue gets on with the second half of his announcement, “And a team we’re never competed with before. The Warblers of Dalton Academy.”

It’s like a brake was slammed on in Blaine’s head, screeching to an unflattering halt. Of course he had known this was possible, but the Warblers had never been matched up again New Directions before. Perhaps it was just about time.

“You okay, Blaine?” Tina asks with worry. It was weird how these little comments could get the attention of the entire room, especially when it would lead to something dramatic.

“Dalton was my old school,” he says. “I was in the Warblers just last year.”

“I hope this doesn’t mean you have divided loyalties, Blaine,” Rachel says.

“If you think Blaine would screw this club over, then you really have a poor judgment of character,” Kurt snaps back. Blaine’s warmed by Kurt defending him (even as he acknowledges that the level of defensive ire comes from Kurt’s irritation with Rachel).

“Okay, guys, calm down. I’m sure Blaine’s loyal to New Directions,” Mr. Schue says, then aside to Blaine, “You are loyal to New Directions, right?”

“Yes!” Blaine protests. _Loyal_ what the hell, is this feudal Europe?

“Sorry to be so crazy about it,” Tina says, “We all had our trust damaged by Jesse St. James.”

“Who?” Blaine asks.

“Later,” Mercedes says. Mercedes and Tina do tell Kurt and Blaine the tale, in exaggerated detail.

“They egged her in the parking lot?” Blaine asks, aghast. He glances over at Kurt, who’s been quiet the entire story time. It’s probably shame on Blaine that he expects Kurt to look amused. But instead he sees Kurt shouldered over.

“That’s harsh,” Kurt says quietly, his only comment.

“And then,” Tina says, “We went against Vocal Adrenaline and lost. And Quinn had her baby.”

“Wait, Quinn had a baby?” Blaine asks. It didn’t affect his vision of her, but it was such a big thing to say so offhand when talking about something completely different.  He and Kurt weren’t the only one who had a lot of drama in their early years of high school. It was important, that struggles are almost universal, if diverse in their being.

“I knew that,” Kurt says.

“It’s hard to hide,” Tina says, motioning out a baby bump.

“Quinn even went through a pink-haired phase, totally ripping me off,” Kurt comments.

“I used to have blue streaks,” Tina says.

Kurt tips his cup at her. “It was a good look.”

Mercedes and Tina leave the Lima Bean not long later, each having their own obligations. Kurt got quiet without either of the talkative girls there to engage him in light-hearted conversation.

“You okay?” Blaine asks.

“I think I should ease up on Rachel,” Kurt says, leaning hard on his hand.

“I think she’s recovered by the egg trauma by now.”

“She’s an overbearing harpy,” Kurt says, “But we all have our ways trying to survive, right?”

“That’s very insightful of you,” Blaine says.

“Don’t get me wrong. If she comes out with the claws, I’m clawing right back, but…” Kurt fidgets with the sugar and sugar replacement packets, straightening them in their holder.  “Maybe I get that someone like her is just a different version of someone like me,” he finally says. He pushes the sugar packet holder pack to the center of the table.  “What about you?”

“What about me?” He had no tiff with Rachel.  

 “Will it be weird,” Kurt asks, “Competing against your old glee club?”

Blaine curls his hand around his coffee cup, enjoying the almost searing warmth against his palm. “I don’t know. It’s kind of awkward, especially because I’ve fallen out of contact with a lot of them.”

Kurt nurses his coffee for a bit, taking a series of small, sampling sips. He’s leaving room for Blaine.

“I told you before I wasn’t super close to any of them, well, Wes, but he graduated. He took me under his wing. I wouldn’t say we were best friends, but he was a mentor. We’ve kept up on facebook.” Blaine shakes his head. “Off topic. The Warblers…”

Kurt ‘hmms’ Blaine encouragingly on.

“They were my teammates. I sang a lot of performance and competition leads too. And now…” He rolls a shoulder, like a shrug but not. This all feels sticky, unpleasant and tacky. He’s not sure if it’s guilt or the pre-mentioned awkwardness. At his first high school, he hadn’t really left anything worth caring about behind, just bad memories and regret. At Dalton, while not the time of his life, he had been safe. Bubble wrapped and overprotected, but cared for.

“Blaine,” Kurt says, “Can I take a page out of your advice handbook and shove it back on your face?”

“Sure?”

“Re-connect. I’m so glad Mercedes and I are friends again. Go visit the Warblers. At the very least clear the air. Let them know you’re in their opposing club and say it’s all sportsman-like or whatever. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll be some friendship there that you forgot.”

Blaine leans back in his chair. “That’s really good advice.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Kurt says with a wink. His phone chimes and he checks it. When he looks back up at Blaine, there is a dangerously flirty glint in his eyes. “Before you go running off to reconnect… my dad just texted to say he has to work late. So, my place?”

…

Kurt and Blaine have a livewire connection. They know how to so easily mesh together when they dive rushed with their spare time into Kurt’s bed, lips connection, hands gripping, legs tangling. But on the opposite end of that, they know when things  get heated _just so_ , when they approaching the peak of doing more – the more they aren’t ready for and haven’t at all discussed – they know how to simultaneously pull back. They catch their breath.

“Shit,” Kurt pants in way of a compliment, as he stares dazed up at his ceiling.

“Yeah,” Blaine croaks in agreement.

They still have time. Blaine can tell when he squints at the clock on Kurt’s bedside table. They still have a good hunk of time before Burt gets home. But they are too zapped, too wired, and too hungry. If they keep going, it might be to a place they are not ready for.

“You know,” Blaine says, some minutes later, “We never did have that talk.”

Kurt grunts in an un-Kurt-like way. He was three quarters on his way to a nap. He peels open his eyelids. “Talk?”

“The, um,” Blaine drums his fingers on his stomach, “The _intimacy_ talk.”

Kurt snort-huffs, then says, “What?”

“You know.” Blaine rolls on his side, lets his fingers slide along Kurt’s arm. “That talk we were going to have about want we wanted… where we are going…”

“We seem to be figuring it out.”

“Kurt.”

Kurt rolls off the bed, away from Blaine. He goes over to his mirror and almost obsessively starts playing with his hair.

“Kurt, are you embarrassed?” Blaine asks, which is the absolute worst thing to say to someone who is embarrassed.

“No,” Kurt protests, voice small and totally embarrassed.

Blaine sits up, but stays on the bed. Kurt needs his space. “You don’t have to be embarrassed with me.”

Kurt spins around. “I don’t know what I want. Okay?  I don’t know. That’s why I don’t want to have this conversation. That’s why I’m all for figuring it out as we go. Because in the heat of the moment, I know.”

“But Kurt,” Blaine says. He shifts forward. “This is why you have to think about it. I don’t want you to do something in the heat of the moment with me that you’ll later regret.”

“My regrets aren’t really you’re concern,” Kurt says, crossing his arms.

Blaine refuses to be stung, and stands. “But it is my concern to make sure everything we do together is consensual.”

Kurt shifts his weight, look away. Blaine approaches. He sets his hands on Kurt’s waist, like a dance. “I love kissing you,” Blaine says. “I love touching you. And I love you touching me.”

“I like those things too,” Kurt says, all grumbly.  He clears his throat and tugs his crossed arms a little higher, a little more protective. “Blaine, I –”

“Yes?”

“I –” Kurt finally makes eye contact. “I never expected to meet someone like you in this town, let alone in my high school. I didn’t expect to meet anyone to date –  to even kiss someone until I made it out of Lima. Those were dreams I saved for the future and they weren’t particularly vivid.”

“So what you’re saying is, you don’t know what you want because—”

“I never thought about it. I never let myself think about it. Why think about something you can’t have?”

“You have me,” Blaine says.

Kurt lets his crossed arms loose. “I know. I still can’t entirely believe it.”

Blaine pushes up on his toes to press a simple kiss on the side of Kurt’s mouth. “Believe it,” he whispers as he settles back down.

He watches as the cogs turn in Kurt’s head. Kurt who couldn’t believe he’s turning into a Kurt he could be just now. A Kurt who could appreciate here and now and the near future of the now, instead of being caught up in just survival and hopefulness and vague wishes that might be fulfilled years later.

“I like what we’re doing,” Kurt says. “I like where we’re at. I’m not ready to escalate that right now.”

“That’s fine. Perfect.”

They kiss again for a bit, just soft explorations, like the sealing of a deal. After a short while, they move back to the bed to cuddle. Kurt asks, “What do you want?”

“I’ll never pressure you into doing you into anything you’re not ready for,” Blaine says.

“I know that,” Kurt says, and Blaine can literally here in the insult in Kurt’s tone, insulted that he could think anything less of Blaine. “That’s literally what this whole conversation was about. And, also, I know you.”

Blaine huffs. “Okay. What answer do you want then?”

“I want you to tell me what you want. You know what I mean.”

There are a lot of possible answers, all true. But there is only one with Blaine believes in the most true, and he’s just bold enough to say it.

“I want to do everything, and be everything, with you.”

Kurt’s quiet after this, then, “Okay.”

That okay could literally mean anything, but Kurt presses in tighter to Blaine’s warmth, and Blaine knows exactly what it means.

…

“Blaine! Please tell me that you’re returning to Dalton’s noble ranks.”

Blaine shakes Trent enthusiastically pumping hand and says, “Sorry, just here to visit.” He had never been particularly close to Trent, but always liked him nonetheless. There wasn’t a mean bone in his body. Plus, the wide smile that spread on Trent’s face when he spotted Blaine in the lobby instantly made Blaine more at ease with his decision to visit Dalton.

“How are the Warbles?” Blaine asks.

Trent’s smile fades from sunshine-blinding to a normal level. “It’s good. We’re good. It’s just – just different. With Wes graduated and you transferred we were a little… unsure on our feet at the beginning of the year. Practice is starting in five minutes. You want to sit in?”

“I would love to, but, full disclosure. I’m in a new show choir, and we’re competing against you at Regionals.”

Trent waves this off. “You already know all our secrets.” He leads Blaine to the Warbles practice room.

Blaine walks in and it’s like a celebrity had arrived. Things get kind of overwhelming and the concrete details of events get mangled together in Blaine’s memories. First there is a lot of handshakes, pats on the back, and even a few hugs.

There are a lot of questions and Blaine answers them en masse: He’s doing well; he’s not coming back to Dalton, sorry; he now goes to McKinley high school and is in the New Directions; yes, the eHe

New Directions the Warblers are competing against at Regionals; and so on.

This doesn’t put a damper on his reception. “We’ll just have to work extra hard, knowing the caliber of the competition,” Jeff says about it. David decides that they should show Blaine one of their latest numbers. But, don’t worry, it’s not one they are using for competition.

Blaine perches on one of the arm of one couch to watch. With the Warblers assembled in front of him in formation, Blaine could more easily spot the new faces of the group. Being in the Warblers only one school year had cemented a certain mix of students in his head as _The Warblers_. But it was a different mix this year. A few years from now, none of these Warblers would remain. It was a flux, a constant change.

Nick starts out as the lead in the song, and Blaine feels a swell of pride for him. Last year he had auditioned for solos but never quite made the cut. This year he had finally succeeded. Nick traded off the lead part with another boy, a newbie.

He was tall, and a good singer. Although, Blaine spent most of his time around good singers, and this guy didn’t up to some of the top talent he had seen in New Directions. The guy keeps looking at Blaine rather intently as he performs. But that it’s too strange, right? Blaine is the only audience in the room to perform to.

The Warblers were good, just as they always are. They had sound harmonies and precise choreography. It was all the qualities that had made The Warblers and Dalton were a net of safety. But they definitely weren’t the New Directions, weren’t McKinley, weren’t Kurt. Blaine’s new life wasn’t nearly as safe and comfortable as his Dalton life had been, but he didn’t regret exchanging them for a second.

 Blaine had traded in the safe comfort zone for bumpy passionate ride of public school. Passion was inherently unsafe, because it was a packing together of too many intense emotions that could explode in any direction. Blaine would never trade it back. The highs of passion were higher than anything. What was that saying? Bigger the risk, bigger the reward.

There was no tampering, spying, or tricking needed. Blaine knew for sure, New Directions would win at Regionals over The Warblers. Even more, Blaine knew he had made the right choice in changing schools.

The number ends. Blaine applauds, saying, “That was great, guys” because it was a great performance, regardless of his internal comparisons.

The rest of the Warblers practice dissolved after that. Blaine’s return had been too much excitement to get things ordered again.

The guy that had traded off singing with Nick on lead comes up to Blaine, offering a hand. “So you’re the famous Blaine,” the guy says smoothly, all suave.

Blaine chuckles unsure, “I wouldn’t say famous.”

“Really?” the guy says, “Because when I came here this year they wouldn’t shut up about you.”

Blaine is flummoxed-flattered by this, because, yes, Trent and the others were excited to see him again… But _wouldn’t shut up about him_ is a big weight of a compliment, even if exaggerated. This is another part of the memory that gets confusing, because somehow Blaine is agreeing to get coffee with this guy – Sebastian – to, as Sebastian puts it, ‘pick his brain’ about the Warblers. Blaine had come to Dalton determined to be an amicable and respectful competitor. What is more amicable and respectable than giving some advice and memories of Warblers past?

So they go to the Lima Bean. Sebastian is certainly a character, constantly slipping in details of his life in France and other things as the waited in line.

As they sit, Blaine’s phone buzzes and he checks it. He has a text from Kurt: _Where are you?_ Blaine responds with, _Getting coffee with a Warbler._

“Sorry,” Blaine says, tucking away his phone. He knows it’s rude to check his phone when he’s in the middle of a conversation with someone else, but his mom still has her periods of over-protectiveness, and Blaine doesn’t like to leave her hanging.

“No problem.” Sebastian’s gaze is surprisingly sharp when Blaine looks back up. But his gaze isn’t sharp like Kurt’s, who looks ready to eviscerate. Sebastian wants something else. Blaine’s not sure what, but it settles uncomfortable in his gut. He trusts the Warblers, but he doesn’t know this Sebastian. Could he be another Jesse St. James, trying to sabotage New Directions?

Blaine gets two quick-fire texts in a row, both from Kurt. He welcomes the distraction.

 _What a coincidence,_ reads the first, and the second, _Turn around._

Blaine squints at the screen then follows the command, twisting in his chair. There stood Kurt in the line at the coffee counter. He raises a hand.

“Someone you know?” Sebastian asks.

“That’s my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Sebastian says with a mix of surprise and distaste. Blaine’s taken back, not used to that attitude from Dalton.

Blaine will not be cowed. (This is a strength Kurt inspired in him). “You have a problem with that?”

“Just that you’re not single,” Sebastian says smoothly. And this that a wink?

Oh. Oh, fuck. Sebastian is flirting with him, has been this whole time. How did Blaine miss that? It was so blatantly obvious not that he reflects back on it. The looks. The compliments. And now Kurt is here, and he doesn’t want this to look like something it isn’t. Because one thing this is, is _isn’t._

While Blaine’s worrying, Kurt gets his coffee and comes over to Blaine’s and Sebastian’s table. “Mind if I join you?” Kurt says.

“Please,” Blaine says, too quick. Kurt pulls up a chair from an empty table and sits close down to Blaine, hooking an ankle over his under the table. Blaine blushes, look down, and back up. Sebastian is definitely less smiley now.

Blaine introduces the two, stilted. They both greet each other less than warmly.

“How long have you known each other?” Kurt asks of them.

Sebastian checks the time then says snidely, “About an hour.”

Kurt cuts a confused look along at Blaine.

“He’s new to the Warblers,” Blaine explains. “He wanted some advice.” Kurt and Blaine had talked about his time at Dalton enough for Kurt to know that Blaine had been a lead singer.

“How gracious of you,” Kurt says to Blaine.

“Yes,” Sebastian cuts in. “Blaine has a lot to offer.”

That was innuendo.  Kurt’s eyebrow arches up, accentuated more by his eyebrow piercing.  He eyes Sebastian up and down, then he turns to Blaine, not even deeming Sebastian worth speaking. “No wonder you left Dalton if that’s what you had to wear every day.”

Sebastian then throws some carefully worded shade about how interesting it must be to go with a public school with no dress code, but Blaine barely hears it as he grasps Kurt’s hand right there on the table top. This gets Kurt to look him in the eye, and Blaine tries to convey in the silence how this guy isn’t at all a threat.

Thusly ignored, Sebastian says something else, “So have you two been to Scandals?”

Blaine squints, replies in a lowered voice, “Isn’t that a gay bar?”

“It’s a dive,” Kurt says.

“You’ve been?” Blaine asks him, surprised.

Kurt shrugs, like, _sure._

Sebastian watches their exchange with critical eyes.  “Well, I’m going on Friday night if you want to meet up. There’s not much else to do in this town. I could snag you some fake id’s.”

“I have a fake id,” Kurt says flippantly.

"He does," Blaine confirms, remembering going with Kurt to get his piercing.

“You coming or not?” Sebastian says. Blaine really has no preference for it, either spending more time with Sebastian or sneaking into a dive gay bar, but Kurt answers the challenge, saying, “We’ll be there.”

…

Kurt has worn his fair share of tight pants, and Blaine wasn't a stranger to that fade of fashion either. But the black jeans Kurt was wearing were the definition of painted on. Under Kurt’s hoodie, Blaine catches glimpse of a corner of mesh shirt-something. Christ.

Choking on a cough, Blaine says, "I know what you're doing.”

Unflustered, Kurt replies, "And what am I doing?"

"You don't have to be jealous."

Kurt arches his eyebrows up. No one should be allowed to look that divine and that condescending at the same time. "I don't plan on being the jealous one tonight."

Blaine points at himself, confused. Kurt shakes his head no.  He leans back heavy on one leg.

"Sebastian?"

"Yes, Sebastian."

"So... you agreed to sneak into a gay bar just to show him up?"

"When have I ever backed down from a challenge?" Kurt says. He shrugs. "Can you just imagine his chipmunk face when I'm grinding all up on you?"

Blaine feels his blush. He battens down it enough to say straight-faced, "I'm not sure how I feel like being part of your schemes, Kurt Hummel."

Kurt steps close, pressing his hands to Blaine's hips. Eye-to-eye, he says, "Trust me. You'll like it."

Kurt had pulled them, perhaps unintentionally, so that there groins were pressed together. Kurt’s thumbs pressed in over Blaine’s hipbones as they stood there, locked. Lightening shoots through their veins.

Blaine remembers somewhere, fleeting, that they had plans. Perhaps, he had the vague interest of going to the gay bay, just to see what it was like. And it was rude to stand people up… but, these were specks of sands blown away.

Blaine swallows. “Your dad here?” he asks.

“No. He’s on a date.”

“A date?”

“Yeah, with Finn’s mom.” In another moment there would have been a long story accompanying that revelation, but Kurt doesn’t share it then. Honest, Blaine’s not that interested then.

“Why?” Kurt asks.

“I was thinking…” Blaine’s eyes flick down to where their bodies are connected, “Maybe we could stay in tonight instead.”

For a few seconds the only thing Blaine can hear is Kurt’s breathing. Then, as quiet as an exhale, Kurt says, “And do what?”  

Blaine feels himself getting hard, and surely Kurt can feel that too, as plastered together as they are. Blaine’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His mouth is so dry all suddenly.

“I’m not sure,” he says.

“I thought we had to talk about stuff before we did it,” Kurt says.

“Yeah.”

“That was your rule.”

"Yeah,” Blaine says again, this time making himself back up, pull away from Kurt, and it’s like ripping apart Velcro. They want to stay connected.

Kurt sighs, sags against the wall of his entryway, rubbing a hand over his face. He swears.

“Are we going then?” Blaine asks.

“I guess so.”

They get into Kurt’s car and they drive and they’re quiet. It’s not either is upset with the other. It’s just that they just had a moment, a moment they had just stepped down one. A moment, in which, if they had made a different decision, they could somewhere very different right now. Blaine thinks – nay, believes – that they made the right decision. But missed opportunities, forked roads, and all that, they could make you dwell.

Perhaps Kurt’s thinking the same, or maybe something completely different. At a stop light, Kurt looks over. They caught each other looking, and Kurt smiles at him. Nothing in it is faked. They’re okay. There’s Sebastian, a dive gay bar, and whatever else ahead of them, but right now, they’re okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am hesitantly deciding to change my updating schedule from every weekend to every other weekend. I had initially wrote a good hunk of this story ahead of time before I started posting, and I was able to keep pretty ahead with writing. However, that is no longer the case, and that's why my updates have been slow over the last few weeks. However, I would prefer quality over speed. And since my chapters are long-ish (on average, ten pages in word) I feel okay with taking longer with updates. I will finish and I promise to not abandon this story for months between updates.


	16. Perfect Fit

They dance. Kurt had designated himself the driver before they had arrived. Blaine had a few (or more than a few) beers throughout the night. They made his body feel light and his head feel loose.

Sebastian was there too, waiting at the bar in a rugby shirt. They were definitely the youngest people in Scandals, and most of the clientele wasn't dancing but that didn't matter to Blaine two beers down and the jukebox playing.

It may have been Sebastian who proposed the dancing at first. Blaine's not sure -- does it matter? -- because it was around then that Kurt shucked his hoodie. Kurt wasn't wearing  _just_  a mesh shirt, there was a tank top underneath, but that hadn't stop Blaine from staring. Or wanting to touch.

Another beer down and he's sure that his favorite part was when his fingers snagged the fabricate where it was only a honeycomb-pattern over Kurt’s bare skin.

 Kurt didn't grind nearly as much as he had promised. Perhaps the heightened nature of what had occurred just hours ago in his entryway encouraged him to, well, not 'leave room for Jesus' but leave more room than he initially planned. Still, Kurt did plenty: he pressed his chest against Blaine’s, moved Blaine's hands to his waist, kissed him there -- in public -- heady and deliberate, throwing them off beat of the music if they were ever on. They'd never kissed in public before. But if there was any place for that first public kiss to happen, it was here, at Scandals, where it was safe, encouraged even.  

During all this Sebastian was... somewhere. In all of Blaine's memories of the night, Sebastian was like glimpses in the corner of his eye. Peripheral vision when all he had eyes for was Kurt. He seemed to sit at the bar a lot, watching them.

…

Blaine groans and rolls over. His head doesn't feel light anymore, but like scrambled eggs, and heavy. Filled-with-sand heavy. But Blaine really likes this pillow his head’s burrowed in right now. God, it's a good pillow. The right amount of pliable and firm, with a pillowcase soft from lots of washing. And the smell! Blaine shifts his head, tips his nose in further. He could smell it all day. A familiar scent, like Kurt, Kurt's hair.

 Oh. This wasn't Blaine's pillow. This wasn't Blaine's bed.

 Blaine peaks his eyes open. Dawn is too bright, but he sees enough to know its Kurt room he's in. He squeezes his eyes back shut.

 "Morning, drunky," Kurt's voice rings pleasantly. Too pleasantly. A cruel-type of pleasant.

Blaine mumbles something so distorted in response Blaine himself isn’t sure what it was. He curls the pillow around his head.

The bed dips with Kurt’s added weight. “So last night was fun, until you lost the ability to walk. I covered for you with your mom. And my dad. But now he doesn’t think you’re nearly as good as an influence as you were before.” Blaine lays there still. “You gonna get up?” Kurt questions. “I brought coffee. And aspirin.”

Blaine parts his hold on the pillow only to mutter, “Too bright.”

Kurt’s weight leaves the bed. Behind Blaine’s eyelids, the room grows dimmer.

“That better?” Kurt says.

Blaine squints to see Kurt had drawn the curtains. He carefully sits up in bed. He knows his head will not approve of fast movements.

Kurt sits back on the bed, propping his feet up, and looking altogether too relaxed. “Did you know you are like a spider monkey when you sleep?” Kurt quips.

Blaine grunts.

“So eloquent.”

Blaine finds the coffee Kurt left for him on the bedside table. Kurt cozies up closer to him, laying his head on Blaine’s shoulder.

“By the way, I’m grounded for the next week for going to a party where there was underage drinking. Oh, right, the cover story is that we went to a classmate’s party where there was alcohol. Not that we snuck into a bar.”

“I thought you said you covered for me?”

“There was only so much I could do when I brought you home obviously drunk. Don’t worry, I think my dad is secretly happy that I’m getting into normal teenage trouble. Also, I didn’t drink, which makes me the good kid in this situation.”

“That must a novelty for you,” Blaine croaks.

Kurt laughs, too loud and too close, making Blaine cringe at the noise he usually rather enjoys.

“You think you’re going to throw up?” Kurt asks after a while of sitting with Blaine threw his hangover. Blaine had finished off his coffee now.

Blaine shakes his head _no._

“My dad is at the shop until around three, so we have a while, but I figure you’ll want me to drive you home before then so you don’t have to deal with his disappointed look.”

“Sounds good,” Blaine says. Then, “Do you think you could set your alarm and I could get a little more sleep before then. I still feel like a zombie.”

“Sure.”

Blaine visits the bathroom to empty his bladder. He washes his sour mouth out at the sink and inspects his less than orderly appearance in the mirror. If Kurt still likes him looking like this…

Blaine comes back to Kurt’s room, and Kurt has folded back the blanket so Blaine can slide in next to him. Once Blaine settles back into Kurt’s super comfortable pillow, he feels Kurt set his head against Blaine’s shoulder. His warmth is just like another layer seducing him to sleep. He’s almost there too, than he hears Kurt say his name.

“Hmm?” Blaine answers. It would be too hard to form proper words now.

Blaine can’t be sure, almost lost to consciousness, but he thinks he hears Kurt whisper, “I want to do everything with you too.”

…

They managed their week apart fairly easily, seeing as they still shared school time and glee practice together. Kurt was all for sneaking Blaine into and out of his house when his dad was at work or he was on a date with Carole. Blaine refused, feeling that it was proper penance to respect Burt’s grounding. It was the least he could do, considering that Burt hadn’t told on him to his mother and he had gotten away scot-free. All it meant was that Kurt and Blaine made more use of their secret hiding spot behind the bleachers during lunch to get their fill of each other (even if it was getting a bit cold outside to do so).

…

Blaine’s running late, and his phone ringing in his pocket, probably his mom, but he can’t forget his manners. He’s holding the door open for the person passing next, so he doesn’t look at the caller id before he answers.

“I know, I know I’m late. But I’ll be home soon.”

“That’s nice,” says a voice that is _not Blaine’s mom_. “But what does that have to do with me?”

It’s Sebastian. Blaine had given him his number that first day, before he realized there was flirting, because they were traveling to the Lima Bean separately… It had seemed to make sense at the time.

“Sebastian.”

“Bingo, Anderson,” Sebastian says, as if with a wink.

Blaine bits his lip. “Can I help you?” A lady he held the door for mouths a thank you. He nods back.

“I just wondering about you and, uh,” Sebastian acts as if he’s struggling for the name, “Kurt. I mean, is it a bad boy phase, or are you secretly both into punk rock, or maybe he’s really kinky…?”

“I don’t… what?”

“You and him,” Sebastian says, “Just don’t make sense.”

Ice crawls up Blaine’s neck. “Well,” he says into the phone, hoping to get across the passive-aggressive tone of ‘mind your own business’, “You don’t really know either of us, do you?”

Sebastian starts to say something more, but Blaine cuts him off. “I’ve got to go.” He hangs up.

…

“You’re going to set that chair on fire,” Mercedes warns.

Blaine looks up. “Hmm?”

“You’re thinking real hard.” Mercedes sits next to him. “You trying to set that chair on fire?”

"Do you think Kurt and I are an... odd couple."

Mercedes tilts her chin up in the air. "I do think you both are rather strange."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know," Mercedes says, whacking his arm. "And... No. I don't. I think you two work really well together. Though, I've got to say I'm biased. I mean, I know you both really good. Too good. I've been in on this from the ground floor."

Blaine laughs. "I guess you have. You were the one that told me that there was more to him."

"And look how it turned out! You should always follow my advice," Mercedes teases.

"I'll keep that in mind," Blaine says.

Mercedes taps a finger to her pursed lips. "Though I guess... never mind."

"Please tell me."

"Well...," Mercedes starts. "From outward appearances, the two of do sort of clash."

Blaine makes a noise in the back of his throat, disgruntled.

"Oh, this can hardly be news to you," Mercedes says. "I mean, Kurt's all edgy, bad boy, has a punk thing going on. The dyed hair, the piercings, the attitude. And you. You're all preppy, like, good student, mannered, straight-edge..."

"Okay, I get it," Blaine says.

" _I_ don't get why you're so bothered, Blaine. I mean," she presses a hand to his knee. "What do appearances matter?"

Blaine turns sheepish, rubs at the back of his neck. "I guess you're right. I know you're right."

"Always," Mercedes reminds him.

"Yes, always," Blaine repeats back.

"Though I kind of get it. I mean, we all build up in our minds who we want to date. Who we're supposed to date. Sometimes reality doesn't match up. But it's not that reality’s failing. It's us. Like, if you had told me freshman year that I was going to date a blonde, floppy-haired jock, I would have told you - you be crazy."

Blaine smiles. "How is that going, by the way? You and Sam?"

Blaine sees it then, the spark in Mercedes' eye, the shift in her total demeanor. Like you're floating and exploding and expanded all at once. It's intimidating and wonderful.

"It's going good," she says, words beyond her.

Blaine raises his eyebrows. "Just good?"

"Very good," Mercedes says, then she laughs in a way that is intoxicated on infatuation.

"Let's do a double date sometime," Blaine says.

"Convince Kurt and we're in."

"Okay, but you've got to help convince Kurt!"

…

Blaine can’t just let it go. It’s a thought nibbling at brain, egging onto some nerve that is perhaps too self-conscious about himself, his appearances.

“Do you think we fit?” Blaine mumbles into Kurt’s mouth. They’re in Blaine’s bedroom for once, both of his parents out of town for business.

“We have plenty of room,” Kurt says, distracted. Then he does this thing with his tongue against Blaine’s that fries Blaine’s brain, making Blaine take a long time to figure out Kurt’s confusing response. Oh, he must be talking about the bed. They certainly have plenty of room with how tight Kurt is pressed on top of Blaine, like they’re in competition to get as many inches of themselves pried together as possible.

“No, I mean,” Blaine says when they both pull apart to catch some breath, “Us. Do we fit?”

Kurt turns his head, looks at Blaine oddly. “Are you questioning our relationship while we’re making out?”

“No. Well, yes. But not like that.”  Blaine cups his hands behind Kurt’s head and pulls him in for a long kiss to prove _not like that._ Then he gets distracted, taking kisses and nips down Kurt’s jaw.

Kurt is not similarly distracted. “Then like what?” he asks, though not pulling away from Blaine’s attentive mouth.

Blaine tucks his nose behind Kurt’s ear, nuzzles in a way. He says, “Like we don’t look right together.”

Kurt scoffs. “We’re gay. We’re in a world where people are always going to think we’re not right together.”

Blaine shifts back, puts a hand to Kurt’s cheek. “I think the world’s getting better.”

“I’m glad one of us is hopeful,” Kurt says, smiling softly. “But then what do you mean, us not looking right together?”

“I mean… look at you and then look at me.”

“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to be insulted or not?” Kurt says with a curved-up eyebrow.

“You know I think you’re gorgeous.”

Kurt ducks his head into his chest as he fights the blush. Blaine finds it so endearingly cute that Kurt hearing compliment from Blaine still gets such a reaction.

“So are you saying then… look how you like cardigans and bowties and I like to flip people off?”

Blaine laughs. “Yes.”

“And this bothers you?”

Blaine opens his mouth and then snaps it shut promptly.

Kurt rolls off of Blaine, lays by his side instead, head propped on his hand. Blaine feels cold, already, with him moved.

“It shouldn’t,” Blaine says, to himself more than Kurt (or Mercedes or Sebastian and everything else he’s having this conversation with).

“Damn right it shouldn’t,” Kurt echoes back. “If you’re that worried about appearances… well, you knew what you were getting into.”

“Wait, what?”

“I’m not –”

“I’m not talking about you,” Blaine interrupts.

“Then what the fuck are you talking about?” Kurt says.

“I’m talking about me!” There it is. Blaine hadn’t even know it until he said it, and there it is. What had unsettled him now lay open. It wasn’t just as superficial as appearances, and it definitely wasn’t that Kurt didn’t fit with Blaine. It was Blaine didn’t fit with Kurt.

Softer than anything else in their conversation to this point, Kurt says, “What about you, Blaine?”

Blaine rolls on his side to face Kurt. If he’s going to say it, he’s not going to hide while doing it.

“When, when people look at you,” Blaine says. “They see someone interesting. Maybe they’re intimidated, but that’s like a genuine emotional reaction. You’re the type of person a hipster photographer wants to take a picture of because just how you dress, just how you hold yourself, people know, that guy has a story. When people look at me, I’m just…” He shrugs against the pillow. “Bland.”

“Who thinks your bland?” Kurt demands, then after thought realizes. “You think you’re bland.”

Blaine bites his own tongue to stop from saying “Yeah. Duh.”

Kurt puts a hand on the dip of Blaine’s waist. “I don’t think you’re bland.”

“Well…”

“What? I’m biased? Or am I just not allowed to compliment you now?”

“Kurt…”

Kurt pushes on Blaine’s hip, making him roll onto his back. He straddles Blaine. It’s all a fluid motion. Kurt’s getting really good at this.

“You listen to me, Blaine Anderson. I might look like an interesting person from the outside, but you’re the person who actually knows me. You’re the one who took the time. You’re the one who got past my defenses. That makes you a quality person. And guess what?” Kurt doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead he takes Blaine’s hand in his and presses to Blaine’s chest, over his heart. “ _We_ are the one thing in this world that makes the most sense to me. So anyone who says anything otherwise can fuck off.”


	17. Christmas Spirit

Blaine couldn’t believe how much his life had changed since the beginning of the school year. Now here he is at the dawn of Christmas break. He has successfully restarted his public school career. He is in a show choir and has one win under his belt. And, most stunningly of all, Blaine Anderson has a boyfriend.

eKurtKurt comes from behind Blaine and tucks his chin over Blaine’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s middle.

“This party is so lame… and garish.”

Blaine stifles a chuckle. Rachel Berry decided to throw an ‘all-holiday’ party, so currently her basement is decorated with a mix of Christmas, Hanukkah, Kwanza, and Winter Solstice themed decorations.

Before Blaine can come up with something nice to say, Santana butts into their conversation. “I think I’m going to go blind,” she says with a sneer.

“We could form a class action lawsuit,” Kurt says back.

Santana smirks. Blaine was right. It would dangerous if these two along too much.

She steps in closer to the two of them, and says semi-covertly. “Puck said he was bringing a keg. But until then…” Santana pulls a small flask from between her cleavage with her long-fingered nails. She unscrews it and takes a sip. She holds it out for both of them in an offer.

The Scandals-created hangover is still too fresh in Blaine’s mind. He shakes his head no.

Kurt says, “I don’t want anything to do with something that been that intimate with your boobs.”

“Your loss,” Santana says. Whether she is talking about her illicit alcohol or her boobs is unclear.

Mercedes and Tina rush up to the three of them. “We hid the karaoke machine. We don’t need another Rachel Berry train wreck where sings all night.”

Santana snorts. “She’ll find a way.”

Just then Rachel’s voice screeches over the dull hum of the party, “How touched my karaoke?”

Mercedes and Tina share guilty looks then rush off to hide from Rachel Berry’s wrath.

“I need to go watch this,” Santana says. She takes a step then looks back at the two boys. She eyes them up and down where Kurt is leeched around the back of Blaine, arms wrapped around his waist. “You two banging yet?”

Blaine can’t see Kurt’s reaction, but Blaine’s mouth goes half-numb as he sputters out, “Wha- That’s not your b—”

“No then,” Santana comments. She tucks the flask back between her breasts and struts off.

“God, I spend too much time with these people.”

Blaine twists his head to try and look at Kurt, but it doesn’t really work. “You only ever spend time with these peopled in Glee club.”

“And occasionally lunch,” Kurt adds.

“Occasionally lunch.”

“Exactly… Too much time.”

“… is any time too much time?” Blaine asks.

Kurt ducks his face into the corner of Blaine’s neck and shoulder, and nods. “You know me so well.”

Shortly later, Puck shows up with Sam and a keg. Rachel’s attention snaps away from finding her karaoke to berating Puck, because this was supposed to be an alcohol free party after what happened ‘last time.’ The beer doesn’t improve the party that much, although it does make people louder in all varieties. They talk, laugh, yell, and even walk louder than when sober.

Someone in all that chaos hooks up their iPod to some speakers and starts a playlist that is definitely not Rachel Berry’s approved mix of show tunes that Blaine would usually enjoy but not at a party. Eventually Blaine separates himself from Kurt’s leeched on hold, but only to pull Kurt in towards him front to dance to the music.

They drift over to the edge of the room, where it’s safer from the flailing, drunken limbs of their classmates.

“We’re dancing way too slow to this music,” Kurt says. It’s true. The beat is pure dance music, not conducive to the sway they had slowed to.

Blaine tilts his forehead against Kurt’s. “I don’t care,” he whispers.

Someone wolf-whistles (Santana, they realize later) and the boys don’t react at first, because they didn’t know it was directed at them.

Mike (Tina and he had been drunk dancing – and impressively – nearest them) points at something over their heads: a plastic mistletoe sprig.

“Kiss, kiss,” Tina starts chanting, and everyone in the room joins in, even those in the far corners who don’t know what they’re chanting for you.

Kurt rolls his eyes, but says to Blaine, “I think we have to.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Blaine replies, though he is blushing at the attention.

“Just public,” Kurt mutters, betraying his real doubts.

Blaine rubs his thumb in crook of Kurt’s elbow. “Hey,” he says. “Everyone here is cool with us.”

“I know,” Kurt mutters. His eyes glance down to Blaine’s lips before meeting back up with his eyes. Kurt toes forward, puts a firm hand on Blaine’s upper arm, then leans in the rest of the space between them. It’s hardly a dirty kiss – though much more than a peck – but it causes the room to go into a round of applause and more wolf-whistles.

Kurt pulls back with a laugh. “These people are ridiculous.”

“These people are your friends.”

Kurt doesn’t disagree.

…

“Hold on,” Blaine says then presses his cell phone to shoulder.

"Can Kurt come over for a visit?" he asks into the living room where both his mother and father sat. Dad is catching up on the _Wall Street Journal_ in his easy car. Mom peruses a cook book that had been gifted to her this morning. The fire place is lit (something they rarely had time for anymore), the tree is decorated in the corner, and two inch bed of snow covers the lawn outside. It’s pretty picturesque.

 Mom is the one who answers. "Christmas is a family day," she says.

 Blaine rolls his eyes. "Cooper already ditched us."

 "Your brother is..." she starts, pausing uneasily over how to finish.

 "A doofus," Blaine fills in.

"Blaine," his father grumbles in warning. Blaine rolls his eyes again. Of course, never say a bad word about Cooper.

"And you're Aunt June and Uncle Don are coming over," Mom says.

"He wants to visit, not throw a party." Then Blaine does something diabolical. He brings out the puppy-eyes then, pleading like he's Oliver Twist, says, "Please, Mom, it's Christmas."

She sighs. "Fine." Victory. "But you have to hang out with us old folks not hide out in your room."

"Mom, you're not old," Blaine says.

"Good answer." 

Dad says nothing.

When Kurt arrives, bundled up, nose pink from cold, Blaine thinks he's just the cutest thing. Blaine hangs up his boyfriend's coat as Kurt unwinds a long scarf, revealing his neck in an unintended strip-tease. They really haven't been able to spend enough time together over break.

They've tried. They text all the time and had several dates and hang outs, but Kurt has picked up extra hours at his dad's shop and both of them have some demanding, family-centered traditions around the holidays. Just out of sight from his parents in the entryway, Blaine leans in for a kiss.

"Merry Christmas to me," Kurt jokes. Blaine just takes his boyfriend's free hand and leads him into the living room.

Ever the hostess, Blaine's mom is waiting with a greeting when they walk in. "Merry Christmas, Kurt."

"Merry Christmas," Kurt says back. Usually so confidant and demanding of room, Kurt seems so unsure and out-of-place right now, though it's hardly the first time Kurt's been in this living room. It is the first time Kurt's been in this living room when both of Blaine's parents have been in it. Blaine is starting to feel a little sick to his stomach himself.

"Kurt," Mr. Anderson says in way of greeting, not looking up from his paper. Blaine had never intentionally introduced Kurt and his father, but they had met nonetheless. It was inevitable with Kurt coming to visit him or pick him up in a home shared between the Anderson men. So Blaine had introduced them, gritting his teeth, making sure to specify that Kurt was his _boyfriend_. Dad had just nodded. Every time since that the two had crossed paths, Dad would stiffen up, greet Kurt with just his name, then busy himself far away. But today is Christmas, and it’s "family time" and this time Dad can't run away.

"I brought pie," Kurt announces, breaking the awkwardness if not quite alleviating it He maneuvers a pie plate wrapped in tin foil out from under his arm and holds it out to Blaine's mom.

"Thank you," Mrs. Anderson says, over cheery. Blaine's not sure if it's manufactured or because she had a couple of glasses of wine at dinner tonight, more than she would usually indulge on. "Would you like something to drink? I was thinking of making hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate sounds great."

Mom rushes off to the kitchen.

"I got you something too," Kurt says bashfully, holding up a much smaller package to Blaine. Blaine smiles at him, and pats the spot on the couch next to him, summoning.

Kurt passes over a small white box. There’s no wrapping or bow, but it is packed with tissue paper when Blaine opens it. Blaine chokes out a laugh when he finds what’s buried beneath the tissue.

“What is it, Blaine?” his mom asks, having returned from the kitchen, a mug in each hand. 

“It’s, um,” Blaine lifts the object from the box with careful fingers. “It’s a bowtie with a bowtie-pattern on it.”

Blaine glances over to Kurt beside him to see him biting his lip through his smirk.

“That’s cute,” his mom says, but it’s clear she doesn’t get the significance beyond this being a clever novelty. Kurt thinks Blaine’s bowties are _cute._ Blaine’s bowties are how Kurt first remembered him, although he hasn’t heard that nickname come from Kurt’s lips recently.

“Thank you,” Blaine says. He presses a kiss high on Kurt’s cheek. Kurt’s eyelids flitter shut, as though he is savoring this, absorbing it even. Blaine presses his hand to Kurt’s knee as he stands.

“Your gift is up in my room. Come on," Blaine says.

 "Blaine, remember, family time," his mom chastises.

 "Five minutes," Blaine pleads then drags Kurt away before his mom can put her foot down.

 Once in his room, Blaine picks up a package from his desk, wrapped in gaudy red and gold paper.

 "There really is a gift," Kurt comments and Blaine doesn't understand his meaning until he turns around and sees Kurt lounging back on his bed.

 "I didn't trick you up here to seduce you."

 "I wouldn't have minded."

 "You won't mind this either," Blaine says, sitting beside Kurt and handing him the present.

 Kurt opens it backside up. "A frame?"

 "Turn it over."

 Kurt does. "A Wicked playbill. A  _signed_  Wicked playbill! Oh my god, Blaine." Kurt points a signiture done in silver ink over Elphaba's hat. "I love her."

 "I know," Blaine says.

 Kurt pulls Blaine into a one-armed hug, clutching at the frame with the other. "This is amazing. This original cast… But it must have been so expensive."

Blaine shrugs. "Not really. Well, I traded for it. One of my signed comic books.”

Kurt stares at Blaine for a moment. “This really is amazing.” He gazes now at the framed playbill on his lap. “Makes my gift look stupid in comparison.”

“Your gift was perfect. I really do love it.”

Maybe it’s Kurt profile, so lovely there, that inspires Blaine. Or perhaps it’s the legendary Christmas spirit they talk about in every holiday movie. Or maybe it’s that they both came up with personal gifts no one else could have matched with them… Or it’s just Blaine. Blaine who is so overwhelmed with the truth, one that had been growing slowly for a long time. Now the tendrils of it finally reached his heart and have rooted in his soul absolutely. He can’t hold it back anymore. He shouldn’t have to.

“I love you,” Blaine says, and he sees Kurt suck in a breath. He adds quickly, “I’m not saying it because I want you to say it back. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say anything back. I just want to know. I love you.”

“Blaine…” Kurt says his name so it sounds so thick. He puts his hand on Blaine’s jaw, so light, but keeping Blaine from looking away in the intensity of the moment. It’s like Kurt just needs to feel that Blaine is real right now, not a mirage or dream or hallucination. “Blaine,” he says again, followed by a giddy sound that’s not quite laughter. “I love you too.”

…

Sometime after the promised five minutes later they make it back downstairs. Mom gives Blaine a ‘we’ll be talking about this later’ type look, but can’t keep it up on Christmas of all days. Or maybe she’s reminiscing what it is like to be young and in love. _In love._

They hadn’t even done anything, really, after the shared confessions. Nothing like groping or kissing. They just sat there, holding hands, in the warm content of the moment. Kurt broke down into an uncontrollable giggle fit for a while. That may have delayed them. Even now, neither of them could stop smiling.

Aunt June and Uncle Don arrive shortly after. Aunt June is overly enthusiastic to meet Blaine’s boyfriend. (She was much more open-minded and liberal than Blaine’s father or even mother.) In conclusion, she is more shocked over Blaine’s boyfriend having several facial piercing then the fact that he is a _boy_ friend.

Kurt is unendingly charming that evening, perhaps high on confessed love. This is especially true when Mom served up Kurt’s pie to everyone.

“What bakery is this from?” Mom asks after a few bites savored.

“Oh, I made it!” Kurt perks up. “It’s my mom’s recipe. Don’t ask me to bake anything else buy prepackaged cinnabuns though.

Blaine knows the deeper story though. Knows it from a mad-to-cover-the-sad rant of Kurt’s around Thanksgiving when he botched a sweet potatoe casserole. Kurt and Burt had trained themselves to almost expertise in a few of Kurt’s mom’s favorite dishes and recipes in order to bring her presence alive to special events as the years passed.

After Kurt leaves, after Aunt June and Uncle Don leave, after Dad goes to bed, and it’s just Blaine and his mom finishing up the dishes, Mom says, “That’s the longest I’ve ever spent around Kurt.” Blaine waits for whatever must be following. “He’s a nice boy.”

“He’s never been a bad person,” Blaine explains. “He just likes people to think he is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested, I make fanmixes. Many of which are Klaine-themed. Just look up ungoodpirate on 8tracks. You will not be disappointed.


	18. Vulnerability

Mr. Schue scrawls something slantways up the whiteboard. Next to Blaine, Brittany tries to sound the word out, not coming anywhere close. She asks, unabashed, "Is that a disease?" Santana snorts but adds no comment.

"Vulnerability," Mr. Schue announces. "Putting emotion into what you do."

"That's not the definition," Kurt says. A few, including Blaine, nod in agreement. Mr. Schue goes on anyway.

"With Regionals coming up, we need to practice being vulnerable in our performances so we are able to make a genuine connection with the audience and judges."

"Dirty," Santana quips.

Mr. Schue then goes into a speech about how this isn't a joking matter, how Regionals is just a few weeks away and they need to win, and so on and so forth. Blaine gets distracted by spying Kurt subvertly playing Angry Birds on his phone in his lap.

Mr. Schue claps his hands in the emphasis of some point and Blaine snaps back to attention. "So, for this week’s assignment I want everyone to do an emotionally vulnerable performance for the rest of the glee club. I'm not looking for fancy dance numbers –" Mike slumps in his chair "Or costumes or mash-ups. I just want you to bear your soul through song."

"Is it a competition?" Mercedes asks.

"Yes," Mr. Schue says. Everyone perks up, because competition meant prizes, at the very least the bragging rights of being the best. This close to Regionals, it might mean a solo spot to perform. "With yourself." Everyone groans.

Rachel stands. "I'm ready to perform right now, Mr. Schue."

"No, Rachel." He motions for her to sit down. She does so with a pout. "I want everyone to really think about their performance. I don't any of you to act out emotions. I just want you to be."

This hovers over Blaine like something profound. To be. Who is he, Blaine Anderson, under the polish and the shine? He’s good at performing, but that is an act like anything else. It’s fun, too, putting passion and energy into a song, but that wasn't the same as baring his emotions, his insides, his viscera.

 "Be what?" Brittany says, nose wrinkled in confusion, breaking Blaine out of his funk.

...

"Do you want to brainstorm ideas for songs?" Blaine asks. It's masked in an offer but is actually a desperate plea. The day after Mr. Schue's assignment was mandated two people performed in glee club: Rachel, who didn’t want to wait any longer after being denied once, and Brittany, who didn’t seem to understand the assignment. She assumed the persona of an actual bee, like the insect, for her number. It was very odd. Blaine’s still a blank slate when it came to ideas for his vulnerable performance.

Kurt picks his muffin apart and then plops a piece into his mouth. “I already know what I’m singing.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kurt eats another piece of his muffin then says, “I forget sometimes how intensely some of you take glee, and then something like this happens.”

“Kurt… tell me,” Blaine whines.

Kurt takes a deliberately slow time chewing his muffin. Blaine pouts in a silly way. Kurt flicks a crumb across the table at him.

“Blackbird,” Kurt says.

“By the Beatles?”

“Is there another one?”

Blaine shrugs.

If Kurt had his way, that would be the end of it. Blaine doesn’t think he’s being cagey on purpose, just that he doesn’t believe there is more to say. Blaine, however, needs this information. He needs to know Kurt’s process so that he too may find a song.

His deep, prodding, engaging question: “Why Blackbird?”

“My mom loved the Beatles, so that is sort of an automatic vulnerable spot for me.” He twists a wrist. “I like the lyrics. I think they fit me, and I can do something with it… What are you doing, looking so grumpy?”

Blaine realizes he has slouched in his seat. His face felt like it’s pouting. He rights himself and says all political, “I can’t think of a song.”

“You?” Kurt asks with a snort. “You’re great at this.”

“I’m not great,” Blaine grumbles and blushes at the same time. Rachel, with all her dramatic behaviors, is great. Kurt and his raw and unmatchable talent is great. Brittany and Mike are great dancers. Santana and Mercedes have singing voices you just wanted to hear more of. Blaine… he’s good. He understands music and performing at its foundations and knows how to build them up into a coherent and powerful whole. But that didn’t make him great in Blaine’s own mind.

“You jumped in on piano accompaniment for Sam the other day. You picked up Mike’s choreography faster than anyone that isn’t already a dancer. You do random performances for the glee club like every other week for fun.”

Kurt’s list makes Blaine sound like more than he is. Blaine is not going to tell Kurt that though. Kurt would probably just throw a bigger piece of muffin at his face, give Blaine a compliment, all while trying to hide the sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t know how to be vulnerable,” Blaine says, which is part of the problem.

“You’re vulnerable with me all the time,” Kurt says, not harshly. The opposite of harshly.

Blaine runs the pad of his thumb over and over the edge of the tabletop. “I don’t know how to be vulnerable with other people.”

Kurt leans far over the table to grasp Blaine’s hand to halt its movements. As a consequence, Blaine forces his gaze up.

“I did it,” Kurt says, not like a boast. “Me.” He laughs like it’s still a surprise. Neither needs to clarify that he’s referring to his performance of ‘Being Alive.’ “You’re so much more open than me. I’m sure you’re just nervous because Regionals is close.”

“Yeah…” Is he more open than Kurt, though? In some ways, sure. Blaine’s better at making friends, at least casual friends. He’s affable and good charming people with easy smiles, tact, and enthusiasm. Being easy to get along with is not the same as open.

Kurt has his armor, but it’s so clearly that. Blaine’s defenses are camouflaged in the same _easy smiles, tact, and enthusiasm_ that make him up. Can Blaine take off the mask, or has he become it already.

“I can still brainstorm songs with you, if you like,” Kurt offers. Listening to music with Kurt in his room is a desirable fantasy, but Blaine maps this out as a solo quest.

“It’s okay. You should focus on practicing your song instead.”

…

In Friday’s glee club, Kurt does a soft, beautiful cover of “Blackbird” that makes Blaine feel as if he were falling in love with Kurt all over again. Literally falling, his gut leaping up into his chest and his heart attempting to leap out of his chest all together. It’s dizzying and wonderful.

Mr. Schue approves. Kurt showed off some of his higher range (although Blaine knew Kurt still had quite a few high notes in his back pocket yet) as well as displayed the demanded vulnerability of the assignment. Mr. Schue actually claps Kurt on the back and smiles, this time not acting shocked at Kurt’s abilities. Honestly though, Kurt causes less drama and strife in the glee club compared to most everyone else, with their infighting for solos and significant others.

That evening is the night Mercedes and Blaine finally manage to schedule their double date. Blaine is more anxious than ever because Mr. Schue wants the rest of the glee club do to their performances on Monday and Blaine is still idealess. He has gone through his iTunes library twice, scoured youtube for ideas, and even posted a plea for suggestions on a music forum. Still, zilch.

The two couples meet up at Breadstix.

Mercedes, Sam, and Blaine carry the opening conversation for a while, Kurt not speaking unless he is addressed. Kurt’s sitting next to Blaine in the booth so Blaine can’t see his face easy as sitting acroos, but Blaine can sense how stiff Kurt is. Kurt wouldn’t be this way with just Mercedes and Blaine. Blaine’s able to guess the issue. It’s Sam. He’s an unknown entity to Kurt. Sam hasn’t tested as safe yet, so Kurt is still keeping up his guard.

When a waitress attends their table, they give their orders and suddenly don’t have menus to distract themselves with.

Sam says to Kurt, “Man, your song today was epic. Beatles. Classic.”

“Thanks,” Kurt says tentatively. He’s not used to getting complimented from most people. And it breaks the ice, really, slowly. Melt, more than break, Blaine supposes. Kurt doesn’t show the side Blaine believes he may be the only one to see, but Kurt relaxes. He even maintains his politest ‘What the fuck?’ face when Sam starts to regale them with his repertoire of impressions somewhere between the second and third breadsticks refill.

Near the end of the dinner, when Sam has gone to the bathroom, Mercedes leans towards them. “So, what do you think?” she asks Kurt.

“He’s not bad,” Kurt says, which makes Mercedes beam, for ‘not bad’ from Kurt is a pretty big praise. Kurt swirls his straw in his drink. “I’m glad you found someone who realizes how fabulous you are.”

“And you,” Mercedes says back. She kicks Blaine under the table in an affection way. More of a nudge than a kick.

Later, when neither of their boyfriends are around, Blaine and Mercedes high five in celebration over a successfully implemented double date plan.

…

He gets home and checks his forum post. A few suggestions have been left and Blaine even goes to the trouble of reviewing each song in detail. None of them work. He closes his laptop in frustration.

On Saturday, he does all his homework until Wednesday of next week, studies for a French quiz, cleans his room, catches up on a few of his favorite blogs, and bakes cookies all in effort to not think about the perfect song that is eluding him. That takes him into the evening, where he helps his mom prepare dinner and clean up from dinner allowing him to talk to her about inconsequential  things for a while. After that he called Kurt. They chatted and made plans for Sunday. After all this, Blaine turns in early.

Early to bed, Blaine surely was early to rise on Sunday. He still had over six hours before he got to go over Kurt’s house. He fills it with another half-hearted song-searching attempt. When it gets nearer the time to visit Kurt’s house Blaine spends an extra long time getting ready. He packs up some of his cookies from Saturday, and ends up arriving at Kurt’s house twenty minutes early.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Kurt says when he opens the front door, his eyes locked on the plate of cookies.

“I know what you like,” Blaine says, holding it out as an offering. “They’re oatmeal butterscotch.” Kurt pulls back the stretch wrap with anxious fingertips. He plucks a cookie from the midle and takes a big bite. He moans in a ridiculous manner.

“Alright,” he says to Blaine, waving him in finally. “You can stay.”

“I feel so used,” Blaine teases. Kurt kisses him to make him feel better. It works.

They fool around on the couch a little bit, but mostly end up cuddling and finding what they can to watch on weekend, daytime cable. A lot of reruns of reality shows, so pretty entertaining for them.

Kurt eventually asks the bugging question, so blasé like it is nothing.

“Figure out your song?”

Blaine voices a literal, “Ugh.” He sits up.

“No then,” Kurt translates.

“Nothing sounds right. I’ve literally listened to everyone song I know at least twice, and about a thousand songs I didn’t know before…” He huffs because he’s wanted to complain about this for a while but was too polite. Kurt’s given him an opening. “I’m pretty convinced there is no perfect song for this, for me.”

“Blaine…,” Kurt says, stretching out his name, “Stop searching for the perfect song. There is no perfect song.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Maybe –”

“Nooooo.” Kurt slashes his hands through the air. “No. No. No. This isn’t about the song, or lack of song, Blaine. You told me. You’re scared of being vulnerable. No song is going to shortcut that problem for you.”

Blaine sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I really want a shortcut.”

Kurt rubs Blaine’s arms, comforting after his tough love. “I know.”

“I still don’t know what I’m going to do.” Blaine pouts.

“You can always ditch. I’ll do it with you,” Kurt says, honestly teasing because Blaine wouldn’t do that.

“I’ll think of something,” Blaine says, still downtrodden. “I’ll wing it if I have to.”

“Maybe you should… Wing it, that is. Maybe in this select case preparation is the enemy of vulnerability.”

 …

Blaine hears the song on the radio as he drives back home after his conversation with Kurt. He probably would never have thought of it, or been perceptive to it, if Kurt hadn’t given him some perspective.

He had performed it with the Warblers before, so he wouldn’t need to spend time memorizing lyrics or melody. At home, Blaine finds and learns the piano accompaniment to the song but that’s all he did. He’s taking Kurt’s advice. He’s going to wing it, to an extent. And he’s going to dedicate it to Kurt. The song is for him, and honestly, Blaine can think of anything more vulnerable than love.

…

Santana starts glee club on Monday with a chilling version of “There Are Worse Things I Can Do” from _Grease_. She’s actually crying when she sings over the line “but to cry in front of you… That’s the worse thing I can do.”

A few other members perform nicely, though not quite as shocking as Santana in her complete breakdown. She might win the award for doing vulnerable, if there had been an award. Rachel Berry had shed a few tears during her performance – a fact she was quick to point out – but that par for course.

“Anyone else have to go?” Mr. Schue asks. Kurt elbows Blaine, but he’s already holding up his hand. “Ah, Blaine, yes.”

Blaine steps to that front of the room, turns to face his judges. Was this how Kurt felt when he first stepped in the choir room to audition – that he would be volunteering himself to the executioners?

“I had a really hard time with this assignment,” Blaine prefaces, knotting his hands in front of himself. “I realized with all my experience performing, I never had to be vulnerable. I was always just able to act the emotions the song needed.”

“Do we really need the speech?” Puck says, interrupting causally.

Kurt kicks the back of Puck’s chair.

“I’m almost finished giving the speech, I swear,” Blaine says, smiling despite himself. Smiling because of Kurt. “I decided last night on this song, after some good advice. And, um, this song is dedicated to my boyfriend, because nothing makes me feel more alive, more vulnerable, more happy, more scared than him –” There’s chuckles around the room. “I mean how much I feel for him. How much I love him…”

Blaine turns and asks Brad if he can use the piano. Brad is silent and offended, but leaves not just the piano bench but the choir room promptly. Blaine takes the seat, cracks his knuckles, and looks back to the room. His eyes focus on Kurt in the top row. Nothing’s scary right then. But that’s not completely accurate. It’s terrifying. But it’s okay too. Blaine can face it.

“This is, um, Teenage Dream _,_ ” Blaine says as he settles his fingers on the keys, not yet pressing.

Santana, mostly back to her normal mood, snorts and says, “That’s not vulnerable.”

“It’s not about the song,” Blaine says. “It’s about the performance.” Kurt nods in the back row.

He plays the first few chords, releasing a shaky breath right before he starts the lyrics.

_You think I’m pretty_

_Without any makeup on_

_You think I’m funny_

_When I tell the punchline wrong_

_I know you get me_

_So I let my walls come down, down_

 Blaine’s voice cracks on the last note of the verse, but he doesn’t care. He’s not after perfection. He’s after a higher goal.

_Before you met me_

_I was already but things_

_Were kinda heavy..._

After this point, he slips into a trance, letting the words flow without much care but with all the care in the world. At moments he let his fingers lift from the keys of the piano and just let his voice carry the song. At other points he leans into the keys hard, making the piano singing loudly and roughly along with him. He didn’t even realize he was done until his hands were shaking and the last note was fading from the air.

The group applauds, but Blaine only has eyes for his favorite audience. Kurt from across the room presses his fingers to his lips then drops them down, a simple gesture of blowing a kiss. Blaine presses his hand to his chest over his heart, like saying, ‘I got it right here.’


	19. Regionals (or You Win Some and Win Some)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm rating this chapter individually as **Mature** for sexual content. I don't think the whole story rating should go up just for this, and it's more... not like a kink meme fill, I guess... more subtle of a type of scene. Idk. Let me know in the comments if you think the rating should go up to mature for this content after you're done reading. 
> 
> Without further ado, here is my update, which I like very, very much.

Like a rising tide, Regionals was upon them. New Directions was prepped. New Directions was primped. (There had been a bit of a tension point when Rachel tried to start a petition for Kurt to take his piercings out for the competition. No one signed but her). 

"I like you in a tie," Blaine comments as they clump in the lobby of the convention center as Mr. Schue finds out where the group is supposed to go. 

"Is that why you were grinning like an idiot at me the whole bus ride," Kurt says, curving up the eyebrow in which his eyebrow piercing is still proudly worn. 

"Maybe," Blaine says, grinning wider. 

Kurt crosses his arms, but it is such a fake mad that not even people like Jacob Ben Israel, who fears/loathes Kurt absolutely, would believe it. 

"Don't get used to it," Kurt says. 

Blaine steps in closer, and the crowdedness of the lobby already has them standing near. He straightens the top of Kurt's tie although it doesn't need it. For never having witnessed Kurt wearing a tie before, Kurt has his knotted immaculately. 

Blaine lets his fingers drop the length of the black tie to its tip. He lifts it and tugs it lightly, not enough to really pull Kurt closer but Kurt leans in anyway. 

"I see why you like it," Kurt replies in a hiss that's way too sexy for public. They don't even notice that New Directions has moved further down the lobby without them. Talk about being caught up in each other's eyes, right?

"Well, well, well," a voice crones, interrupting their (very public) moment. Kurt closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and turns to face the annoyance. His tie slips out of Blaine's fingertips. Sebastian stands there, leer intact. Blaine spies the rest of the Warblers (they are easy to spot in their uniforms) at the check-in table closer to the entrance. 

"Nice to see you here," Sebastian says, only to Blaine. 

"Christ, I almost forget you existed," Kurt seethes. "That much of my brain space could have been freed up for better things."

Sebastian's eyes flick over to Kurt only briefly, like the boy was a buzzing housefly. A nuisance, but inconsequential.

To Blaine, Sebastian says, "What's it feel like to be on a losing team?"

"We haven't competed yet," Blaine says, bright and pointed. 

"But come on..." Sebastian places a hand on Blaine's elbow like they're friends. "You know the Warblers are going to win."

Blaine takes the half of step back needed to dislodge Sebastian's grip. "Actually, I don't know that. I have full confidence in New Directions." 

Sebastian tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform slacks. "Care to put a wager on it?" Blaine realizes he's been baited.

Kurt snorts, loudly. “Blaine’s not a Neanderthal that needs to prove his man-ego over anything that’s vaguely competition-like.”

Again, Sebastian doesn’t acknowledge Kurt. “Well, Blaine,” he says with a smarmy smile. "Warblers win, you go on a date with me."

“I’m dating Kurt,” Blaine says.

“Oh, that’s still going on?”

Because talking to Sebastian isn’t working, Kurt says to Blaine, like Sebastian is the one not there, “Is this guy for real?”

Not to be outdone, Sebastian says, “You didn’t ask what you get if you win…” and as an aside, “Not that it’s going to happen.”

 As a masochist, Blaine dares to ask, voice dry, “And what do I get when New Directions wins?”

“You can do whatever you want with me.”

Despite this being the perfect opening for Kurt to say something like “Feed you through a wood chipper” (because Blaine would never say this even though he _may_ be thinking it) Kurt doesn’t. Rather, Kurt does something that is the first thing Blaine has witnessed that has really makes Sebastian waver. His posh and disdain and smugness cracking as ugly expression – a hateful frown – forms on his face.

Kurt laughs.

It’s not practiced or fake. It’s not a scoff or guffaw. No, Kurt goes through a full-bodied round of real laughter.

“Are you serious?” Kurt manages to say when he is a little more under control, even as laughs overcome his words. “Who talks like that? Who actually says things like that in real life?... I don’t think you’re real.  I mean, you look like who walked off the set of some CW show.”

Kurt’s wiping away laughter tears when Tina runs over to grab them where they’ve been left behind. Sebastian is silent and scowling.

“Um,” Blaine says, as Tina tugs him and Kurt away by their sleeves, looking over his shoulder to address Sebastian. “I won’t be taking you up on that wager.”

“I got that,” Sebastian snaps.

While being dragged to the green room, Tina asks the two of them, “Who was that?”

“No one consequence,” Kurt says.

Tina says, “Huh?”

“He’s right,” Blaine agrees. Kurt hides a smile behind a hand.

Tina shrugs, and abandons them when Quinn summons her over to do eyeliner touchup.

Kurt links his arm through Blaine’s. “I haven’t had as vested an interest in winning this as everyone else in the club,” he says, “But now, I really want to kick that prat’s ass.”

“Prat?” Blaine asks.

Still seething, Kurt says, “I’m closet Anglophile.”

“God, I love you so much.”

…

With no drama, no hiccups, and not a foot stepped out of assigned choreography, New Directions performed their routine of songs at Regionals. It was a fairly balanced performance. They started with a ballad shared three ways by Rachel, Santana, and Mercedes with the rest of the group performing backup vocals. This was followed up an upbeat number sung by the guys, mostly Artie, Sam, and Finn, but all the guys got a line or two of their own to solo, (including Blaine and Kurt), while Mike and Brittany did an awesome dance routine.

Kurt’s beaming when they get off the stage. Blaine nudges him with this shoulder as Sam is flying around the group giving high-fives to everyone.

“How did you like performing in front of an actual audience?” Blaine asks.

“It was everything,” Kurt says, wistful. Blaine doesn’t get to ask more because then they’re getting called back on stage for the award ceremony.

“If the judges decided that fast we must be the clear winner,” Blaine overhears Rachel theorizing as they move as a huddle mass back on stage.

The announcer makes a big show of announcing each placing show choir in turn, all the while Kurt’s gripping Blaine’s wrist almost circulation-getting-cut-off tight. Third place is awarded. It’s between New Directions and the Warblers.

“Second place goes to…” The announcer pauses for an absurdly long time to build up anticipation. Kurt squeezes tighter…

…

 “Congratulations on the win.” Trent of the Warblers had found Blaine in the lobby after New Directions had been announced as the Regionals winner. He was pumping Blaine’s hand in an enthusiastic handshake. “The Warblers haven’t been the same without you, Blaine. But it was great to see you perform again.”

“Thanks, Trent,” Blaine says. Kurt gives Blaine a confused-amused look, maybe surprised not all the Warblers were evil.

Trent turns his attention to Kurt, “You too. Great performance. Would you mind if I asked what your range is?”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up.

Blaine steps in to make proper introductions. “Kurt, this is Trent, an old Dalton friend. And Trent, this is Kurt. He’s actually my boyfriend.”

“Well, a pleasure to meet you even more,” Trent says, now shaking Kurt’s hand with equal enthusiasm as Blaine’s. “You got a good one,” Trent tells Kurt.

“Oh, I know,” Kurt says back.

…

They’re heads were tucked together like quintessential lovebirds for Blaine shares a pair of earbuds with Kurt on the bus ride back to Lima. It forces them close. It’s a long ride, and most of the club had settled down from celebrating. Adrenaline had run its course and now they all are crashing.

The song fades as Blaine’s earbud is plucked out of his ear. He instantly reaches for the chord because he assumes it was an act of the jolting bus, but then Kurt’s finger runs along the curve of his ear.

“Hey,” Kurt breathes.

Blaine tilts his head more toward Kurt’s. Their temples press together.

“I’ve been thinking…” Kurt says, voice ice quiet, even Blaine barely hearing it over the rumbling of the bus. Blaine hmms with an inquisitive intonation, queuing Kurt to go on.

“Winning a competition,” Kurt says, “It’s invigorating.”

“I know,” Blaine agrees affably.

“You don’t,” Kurt replies. He shifts on the bus bench. Their thighs are flush together. Blaine thinks falling asleep like this wouldn’t be a bad way to spend the rest of the ride.

Kurt must’ve worked up his fortitude, for he says the next thing in a single hissing pounce. “I mean it’s a turn on.”

Blaine pinches himself on the thigh, then sits up so he can turn to look at Kurt. He’s not blushing, but his tongue his peaking out between his teeth as he awaits Blaine response.

Blaine brushes some wayward pink hairs up from Kurt’s forehead. “Are you saying what I think you’re…” He cuts off as Kurt presses a finger to his lips. Kurt fakes stretches in order to glance over the seat behind and in front of them. Then he sinks in against Blaine again, resituating himself so that is mouth is directed right near Blaine’s ear.

“I’m not saying all the way, but trying out… partway.” Kurt’s warm breathe flowing onto Blaine’s sensitive skin is not helping Blaine think straight at all.

“Umm…” is all he manages to utter, though his heart is pounding, _yes, yes, say yes._

“I want to,” Kurt starts but pauses to release a sighing breathe. Blaine shivers and is sure goose pimples are forming down his neck. “Touch you.”

In his peripheral vision Blaine’s fairly sure he sees Kurt glance downwards, and yeah, Blaine gets the memo even if the part of his brain that controls speech isn’t working right now.

“You can say something?” Kurt whisper-prompts.

Words still failing him, by muscle memory alone is able Blaine to reach out and find Kurt’s hand with his own. He squeezes a comfortable tight.

Kurt laughs all airy and light as he presses his forehead to Blaine’s shoulder from the side, now turned shy.

Blaine frees his arm to wrap it around Kurt’s shoulders. He presses a kiss to the top of Kurt’s head and doesn’t back away too quick, enjoying too much the scent of his hair.

…

“My place,” Kurt says when load off the bus into the parking lot at McKinley High.

Blaine nods, struck dumb. Kurt had been slotted to give him a ride anyway.

Kurt drives with his hands chocked up on the steering wheel. Blaine keeps glancing at him, to his distinctive profile. Kurt doesn’t glance back, or maybe he does, but the two of them just keep missing each other. Blaine does take large swatches of the trip purposefully not staring at Kurt (he could stare at Kurt forever if he let himself).

Kurt parks the car along the curb in front of his house. They had arrived and Blaine hadn’t even realized they had turned onto the correct street.

“Have you ever…” Kurt twirls the key ring around his fingers in fumbling anxiety, “Done this with anyone?”

“No. You know that,” Blaine says. He unbuckles.

“I know. I know not… _capital ‘s’ sex_ … but like sexy stuff?”

“No,” Blaine says, and he’s so afraid to say the wrong thing that he says no more. Words are just coming back to him anyway.

Kurt breaks the tensions he’s built, but saying with a laugh that is just a puff of air, “Does that mean I get be your first everything?” There’s a glint in his eye.

“You already are.” Kurt bites at his lip ring, expression twisting into confused, and Blaine says, “I don’t think you quite realize how completely you own my heart.”

That must’ve been the right thing to say, because Kurt replies, “Let’s go inside.” They walk normal, but everything zips by until they’re in Kurt’s room and Kurt’s locking the door behind them ‘just in case.’

“Get on the bed,” Kurt says for Blaine has stopped just inside the bedroom. It’s not really an order but Blaine follows it like one.

Kurt slaps his palm to his forehead when he sees Blaine sitting tentatively on the edge of the mattress. “You laid your ass out on my bed the first time you were in this room and now you’re acting like you’re not invited?”

Blaine kicks off his shoes and pushes himself further onto the bed, propping himself up against the pillows.

Kurt strips out of his stage clothes: the tie, the button down, the leather belt. He’s in just an undershirt and the black jeans the glee club boys had opted to wear rather than dress slacks. Kurt performs this undressing in an utilitarian way, nothing tease about it, but it might be the sexist thing Blaine’s ever witnessed. His pants feel too tight.

Kurt crawls up to Blaine from the end of the bed.

“Can I?” Kurt asks as he reaches towards the button on Blaine’s waistband. Blaine hisses “oh, God,” when Kurt’s fingers make contact.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” Kurt protests, and it’s almost silly.

“Doesn’t matter,” Blaine says through gritted teeth. “It’s close enough.”

“Do you want to do it?” Kurt withdraws his hands.

“No,” Blaine protests too fast. He’s a mess today. “No. You can do it.”

Never has a zipper being pulled down been so suspenseful.

“You’re already hard,” Kurt comments, eyes locked down on Blaine’s crouch, still covered by his boxers.

“Duh,” Blaine says barely.

“You’re going to have to lift up your butt…”

“Yeah. Sure. Yeah.” Blaine moves faster than he thought possible considering that that at the very least the verbal part of his brain had stopped working efficiently for the later part of this day. He hooks his thumbs into his waistband and lifts his hips to pull them partway down his thighs. “Um…” Kurt is kinda stuck still. “This okay?” Blaine asks.

Kurt nods, not looking Blaine in the eye. Then he says, “It’s kinda weird…”

“It’s weird?!” Blaine looks down where Kurt is looking. He thought his penis was normal-looking.

Kurt smacks a hand over his mouth and starts giggling in small little peeps. “No, just… seeing someone else’s,” he explains.

Kurt shifts on his knees beside Blaine, then sits down on his legs. “Do I just…” Kurt says but doesn’t finish as he reaches out. At first contact – gentle, tentative fingers – Blaine inhales sharply. His skull clunks against the headboard as he squeezes his eyes shut and lets Kurt figure this out at his own pace.

When Kurt wraps his hand around him fully, Blaine makes a little noise in the back of his throat, desperate and appreciative at once. “Oh god,” he says on an exhale as Kurt begins to move his hand up and down.

As Kurt moves into an assured rhythm, Blaine gathers himself enough to open his eyes, and they go to Kurt’s face. Kurt, who is biting his bottom lip in concentration but whose eyes are wild wide.

“I’m close,” Blaine says.

Kurt’s eyes fly up to Blaine, mouth dropping open. “Already?”

“I’ve been close since you brought it up on the bus – ah.” He’s coming.

After it’s all done, Kurt grabs tissue from the nightstand, cleaning off his hand and setting the box on Blaine’s stomach. Blaine takes care of himself and pulls his jeans and underwear back up but not bothering to button up. He’s not sure he’s ready for such fine motor skills when he’s caught somewhere between lethargic and shaky.

But what he is ready to do is tackle Kurt to the bed and kiss him, so he does, hands ringing Kurt’s wrists, pressing them to the mattress. Kurt kisses him back hard, but Blaine abandons Kurt’s lips for his jaw, then his neck. Making a long trail of kisses to it, Blaine finally ends up at that special place under Kurt’s ear that make his eyes flutter. Kurt doesn’t hide his moan. Blaine feels Kurt hardness against his thigh.

“Can I … You?” Blaine says. He releases Kurt’s wrist and snakes an arm between their bodies. He cups Kurt’s hard-on through the denim and Kurt says, “Hell yes.”

Blaine crawls down Kurt’s body and gets to work on his jeans. Everything comes undone and off rather easily as Blaine silently appreciates every new inch of Kurt’s skin he gets to witness. He begins stroking Kurt.

Blaine wants something more, more than just the touch of Kurt in his hand. And Blaine’s too caught up in the moment to be too shy to ask.

“Can I blow you?”

Kurt is looking down at him from the pillow, face flushed. One hand fists in a pillow, the other in the sheet. The tables must’ve turned, with Blaine freezing up Kurt’s words, for Kurt just nods for an answer.

Blaine doesn’t hesitate, dominated by single-minded want. There are all sorts of sensations to catalogue from this experience, giving a blow job – a first blowjob – like the taste and the warmth and the size and the weight in his mouth… but mostly Blaine hears. Kurt is parading out a series of _shit_ s as his body arches. Kurt’s breath gets heavy then heavier. His fingers snag at Blaine’s shirt at the shoulder.

“I’m gonna –” is all Kurt can say. Blaine pulls back. (He’s an amateur. He’s not ready for swallowing.)  He quickly replaces his mouth with his hand and finishes Kurt off that way.

They both catch their breaths.

“Get the fuck up here,” Kurt says and Blaine follows the boys command. At first chance, Kurt snags his fingers into the hair at the back of Blaine’s head and pulls him in for an off-center kiss.

Later, after some more kissing and after a short nap, they’ll get themselves together. They put their clothes on properly and fix their hair in order not to look like they just debauched each other.

Burt will come home from work to find the two boys in kitchen making dinner together.

“So, how did that singing competition thing go?” he asks them.

Blaine catches Kurt’s eye and says, “We won,” with double meaning fully intended.


	20. Honest Face

The problem with Blaine is that he has a really honest face. On top of that, add that he is courteous to a fault. Often times going places and doing things for Blaine would take longer that for the average Joe. Take walking through a crowded school hallway for example. Kurt can cut through like a hot knife through butter. Blaine, unless he has latched on Kurt, will take a significant percentage of time more time to walk the same distance.  More time that could be accounted for his shorter stance, that is.

See, Blaine tries to avoid running into people instead of making people avoid running into him. Blaine says ‘excuse me.’ Blaine holds open doors, and not like the normal ‘not let it shut on the person behind you’ way, but will hold the door ‘for several minutes at a time’ type of way. Blaine stops to pick up other people’s dropped books.

So it’s not really a surprise that when Blaine comes out of the restroom at the Lima Bean – even though Kurt is waiting for him at a table not far away – that Blaine gets sidetracked. But it’s not really Blaine’s fault. That poor woman had a giant diaper bag, and baby in baby carrier (a baby!) and was trying to find a way to handle her ordered coffee and croissant.

Blaine just walks up and offers, “Ma’am, can I help you?”

She’s somewhere in her twenties and this is probably her first kid, because it always seemed the mom’s with more than one were kinda experts at this.

“Oh, thank you,” the woman says with so much relief she almost sags. Blaine expects to perhaps carry her coffee for her, or take the heavy-looking diaper bag off her hands . What he doesn’t expect is to be handed the baby carrier complete with baby. “Let me just get my purse,” she mutters, and starts digging through the overstuffed diaper bag.

Kurt catches eyes with him from a distance. Blaine shrugs. Kurt shakes his head but is grinning.

Someone sits across from Kurt at their table. Blaine eyes narrow. Who…? Oh. Shit.

“Um…” Blaine shifts awkwardly as he watches the woman, now with her purse and flipping through the many cards in her wallet at the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she says again to Blaine. She’s a bit of a mess, but at least she’s nice. “You’re such a sweetheart,” she tells Blaine. Blaine looks back to Kurt’s table, where Kurt’s expression has gone sour.

Blaine shifts the weight on his feet, inching slightly closer to Kurt’s table, but Blaine’s not about to go far while holding some stranger’s baby. The group of giggling girls had been seated at the table between Blaine at the counter and Kurt’s table, where Sebastian had seated himself, got up and left. This allowed Blaine to overhear if he titled his head just so and concentrated really hard.

Kurt puts up a hand and this cuts off whatever Sebastian was saying. “Listen up,” Kurt says, his tone final. “I’m not going to fight with you over Blaine.” Sebastian may then have opened his mouth to retorted, but Kurt cuts him off before he can start, raising his voice over Sebastian’s. “That’s not me giving up, that’s me being confident in my relationship with him _and_ that’s me knowing him.”

“Here’s the thing, _Sebastian_ ,” Kurt says his ‘rival’s’ name like it is the most ridiculous thing. “Blaine’s doesn’t care about… money, about status, about looks, about getting one over on someone else. Those are the things _you_ care about. Blaine…” He looks over Sebastian to see Blaine holding some stranger’s baby for her as she repacks her diaper bag after paying the clerk. Kurt drops his gaze back to Sebastian. “Blaine’s a better person than that. And if you don’t appreciate how _good_ of person Blaine is… than you don’t care about him than some prize or notch in bedpost or whatever. He doesn’t deserve that. No one deserves that, but especially not him.”

Sebastian says something back, low-voiced, that Blaine can’t hear.

Kurt laughs, brushes up the front of his hair like it’s nothing, and replies, “I never said I thought I deserved him, but I respect him enough to let him make his own choices without harassing him.”

Sebastian says something, again quiet; Kurt replies equally as quiet. Sebastian gets up and leaves, rather swiftly. The woman is ready to go to her table. Once she’s settled, Blaine comes back to Kurt.

“I overheard some of that,” Blaine says as he slides back in his seat.

“I know you did.” Kurt sips his coffee. “I don’t think he’ll be bothering us anymore.”

“What’d you say that made him leave?”

“I asked him, more or less, what made behave like he did.”

Blaine tilts his head, curious.

“We all have our… fronts for a reason. I know that more than anyone,” Kurt says. “I just made him think about his… Must’ve hit a sore spot. I didn’t actually think that would work.”

“Wow.”

“I was just trying to be the bigger person. You know, not call him a beaver-face.”

“Beaver-face?”

“Surprisingly accurate, am I right?” Kurt says with a grin. He lets it fall. “Wait, I’m supposed to be trying to be the bigger person.” Kurt takes a zen-like breath and settles into a neutral expression.

“Hey, Kurt?”

“Yes, Blaine.”

“I don’t think I deserve you.”

Kurt’s eyes flutter shut. He opens them again slowly, -- Blaine follows the curve of his eyelashes – and looks right into Blaine’s eyes. It’s an inseverable connection. He truly believes he is the undeserving one. And maybe it’s a blessing, in a way, to both feel lucky to be loved by someone so special to them. But it can’t overcome how sad it is that both of them felt less than the over believed them to be.

“Well… it’s good then, that it’s not about deserving. I chose you and you chose me… And if you’re done with your coffee. I’d like to _chose_ you at home because my dad is out on another date… if you get my drift”

Blaine gets it. He downs his lukewarm remaining half cup of coffee. “Oh, look I’m done.”

…

An hour later, and they’re sated and exhausted and breathless and a little sticky. Kurt manages to get up from the bed, movements loose like smoke. He mutters something about the bathroom before disappearing out his bedroom door. Blaine rolls on his side, places a hand on the mattress where Kurt had laid moments before, seeping in the warmth before it disappeared completely.

He blinks and he looks for the clock that he knows resides on Kurt’s bedside table. The hour digit is blocked by a piece of paper. A torn open envelope leans there. Blaine just means to move it, but knocks it onto the bed. It’s from a college, NYU letterhead peaking out where unfolded-refolded papers sticking.

Blaine knows Kurt’s a senior. Once or twice Kurt had to rebuff making plans because he had to work on college applications… but that had been back early in their relationship. It had been before they said ‘I love you.’ They haven’t really talked about that far in the future. Was it too soon? Or maybe Kurt hadn’t gotten in and didn’t want to talk about it? Blaine tucks the envelope back in place and rolls over to stare at the ceiling.

Kurt comes back, almost silently. He slips into bed beside Blaine, tucking his head on Blaine’s shoulder as he curls up.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asks Blaine.

“Nothing,” Blaine says.

“Nothing?”

“About you,” Blaine corrects.

“Better,” Kurt says and kisses Blaine’s jaw with barely any effort. Blaine wriggles an arm under and around Kurt – he has twenty minutes before he has to leave for home – and holds him close.

…

“We’ve done duets before, Mr. Schue,” Tina says after the man writes the word on the whiteboard with a flourish.

“More than once,” Artie adds.

“True,” Mr. Schue says, waving his uncapped dry-erase marker in the air. “But what a better time to revive a lesson about the important of working together then our big competition is coming up?”

Kurt leans over towards Blaine to whisper. “Is it me, or is the spacing between these competitions odd?”

Rachel overhears him. She turns in her seat and responds, “Don’t apply logic to show choir.”

Mr. Schue lays out the parameters of their assignment as Blaine bugs out. Kurt kicks Blaine on the shoe, just hard enough to get his attention. Everyone is standing and leaving and Blaine hadn’t even noticed.

“You’re going to be my duet partner, right? Mercedes and Tina already paired up with their boyfriends and I don’t think I can stand anyone else here.” Kurt says this is the tone he uses for derisive humor but even that takes a few seconds to leak in through Blaine’s skull.

“Yeah, sure,” Blaine says. Finally, the last switch is flipped as he is pulling his satchel onto his shoulder. The room is now empty except for the two boys.

“I’ve never duet-ed with you before,” Blaine says, dazed.

Kurt’s already down the risers, so he looks up at Blaine and says, “True… We’re going to be better than the rest of those bitches.”

Blaine’s quiet.

“It’s a joke,” Kurt says. “I don’t think they’re _all_ bitches… Also a joke. Well, maybe a little bit.” Kurt shifts down on the choir room floor as Blaine takes slow steps down the risers.

“You okay, Blaine? You’ve been off, like, all day.”

Blaine shakes his head. “Just… headache.”

“Oh.”

“I just think I need to lie down,” Blaine says.

“Well, go thing school’s over. Want to come to my house. You can lie down there.”

Blaine rolls his head on his neck. “If I lie down in your bed I’m not sure what’s going to happen,” he says.

Kurt smirks, steps in close for the proximity they usually keep at school. “I’m fairly sure you do know.”

“Not rest,” Blaine says. “Which is what I need.”

Blaine decides to go straight home. Kurt presses a short kiss to Blaine’s cheek and tells him to text him when he feels better for Kurt will surely be worrying about him. Blaine goes home. He lies down. He had lied to Kurt. He didn’t have a headache, but he’s sure afflicted with something that he couldn’t quite identify. Maybe Blaine is coming down with a cold but he hasn’t been hit with symptoms yet.

Blaine lies down, unsleeping, for most of the evening. He never feels better and he never texts Kurt.

…

“I came up with a list of duet ideas.” Kurt unfolds a sheet of notebook paper and slides it over to Blaine. “Take a look at it. See if you like any. It’s okay if you hate them all.”

“Oh, right,” Blaine says. He had forgotten in his distress yesterday afternoon.

“Are you feeling any better?” Kurt asks him, twisting in his chair to face toward Blaine’s.

Blaine shakes his head and says nothing. Mrs. Boggart walks into the classroom and Kurt leans back in his chair with a little puff of frustration. They don’t get to talk after that.

At lunch Blaine is barely pecking at his food at the end of the Glee table when Kurt sits down adjacent to him.

Kurt stabs at his salad, chews and swallows a forkful of lettuce, then says, “So, um, did you have a chance to look at the list?”

“Huh?” Blaine asks.

“The song list.”

“Oh.” Blaine searches his pockets. “I think it’s in my locker.”

“So you didn’t look at it?” Kurt says.

“Sorry, no.” Blaine stares down at the cafeteria-provided, soggy-looking mac and cheese on his tray, wondering if he is hungry enough to try it.

“Do you want to come to my place after school to work on the duet?” Kurt asks. Blaine notes that he had avoided getting the mac and cheese all together. “Even if it just picking the song at this point.”

Blaine sighs and leans his chin on his hand. He looks at Kurt, who’s pink hair will need re-dying  soon and whose right there within reach if Blaine just reaches out his arm and tries. He closes his eyes and this image of Kurt lingers in Blaine’s mind’s eye until it details fade into just the darkness of the underside of his eyelids. He opens his eyes again.

“I didn’t do any homework or studying last night because I felt sick” – he still feels sick – “I need to catch up today.”

“I can help you study,” Kurt says, with an almost desperate pitch to his tone.

“We only have one class together,” Blaine says.

“And your French sucks,” Kurt quips.

Blaine grins fleetingly, then says, “I think I need to buckle down at home by myself.”

“Oh…” Kurt shifts in his seat as he drops his gaze from Blaine. “Okay.”

Mercedes joins the lunch table near them, and she fills the silence between them for a while, but it gets awkward fast when she starts asking both of them questions and gets only short, blunt responses.

…

Two more days like this pass, and Blaine realizes he isn’t sick. He isn’t coughing, sneezing, running a fever, vomiting, suffering headaches, or the like. However, there’s certainly something in his mood dragging him down and keeping him from being a very attentive friend, student, glee club member, and boyfriend. There is, however, certainly something attacking his mood. And if Blaine chases it back, and chases back, to find where this feeling began… well…

It doesn’t make him feel any better. So instead Blaine clears his head and tries to ignore it. But that’s the other thing about Blaine’s honest face. He couldn’t hide nothing.

…

Mercedes storms down the hallway and stops at Blaine’s locker.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, Anderson.”

He’s mildly frightened. “Okay,” he says, closing his locker gently.

“Why you ignoring your boyfriend?” she demands.

“I’m… not,” he says hesitantly. 

She raises a critical eyebrow. “Don’t you lie to me.”

“I don’t know why,” Blaine replies, and it’s a little honest of an answer.

“Well, you better figure it out. Because seeing Kurt upset makes me upset, and you,” she prods him in the chest with a finger, “Won’t like me when I’m upset.”

Blaine gulps and nods.

Softer, Mercedes says, “He’s scared you don’t love him anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Blaine protests.

“That’s what I told him,” Mercedes says. “Now you go prove it to him.”

“Where is he?” Blaine asks her.

Mercedes just shakes her head, says “If you can’t figure that out...”, and walks away.

_Duh,_ Blaine thinks, _Duh, duh, duh._ He rushes out the back doors of the school.

He pulls back the vines, ducks under the old bleachers, and there Kurt is. He has earbuds in but sees Blaine immediately. He looks up and down at his knees quickly following.

Blaine comes to kneel across from Kurt. He touches Kurt’s ankle through the heavy hem of Kurt’s jeans to garner his attention.

Kurt takes one earbud out. “Yes?” he asks, a dry sort of pompous. Blaine’s shoulders tightened as his gut twists. He knows that tone. Kurt’s withdrawing… placing bricks back in his wall.

“Kurt,” Blaine says. He takes a breath through his nose. “We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“I messed up.” Might as well be forward with it.

Kurt takes the second earbud out.

“I’ve been distancing myself from you,” Blaine says. “Because I’m freaking out over the idea of you going to college and leaving me here.”  

Kurt blinks a few times. “Why didn’t you just tell me that from the start?”

“Because I’m incredibly insecure… what? You don’t have the monopoly on that.”

“Blaine…”

“I thought, maybe, you hadn’t brought it up for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, “The reason being I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I haven’t even got all my letters back yet. It’s stressful because I wasn’t exactly a great student. Though I’m pretty sure Miss Pillsbury wrote me a good recommendation letter just to get rid of me.”

Blaine’s chin tucks into his chest, feeling relief take whole at hearing Kurt’s candor.

“And anyway, we still have nationals and prom and graduation and summer break and all days in between,” Kurt adds. Perhaps going away to college is just as scary to Kurt, for a whole number of reasons.

“Kurt?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Kurt grins with one corner of his mouth. “I was worried that you ‘distancing’ yourself because of something I’d done, or I wasn’t interesting to you anymore…”

Blaine cups his hand over Kurt’s knee. “No. No. A millions times no. You’re perfect.”

Kurt scoffs, but still beams under the praise. “I’m not perfect.”

It’s slides easily and thoughtless but completely honestly from Blaine’s tongue, “You’re perfect to me.” A half-remembered melody line pops into his head. “I just thought of the perfect duet song.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, what do you think of P!nk?”


	21. Suits

Being invited over the Hummel house has become an awfully informal affair. Blaine still knocks on the front door and waits to be let in. However, there is not much decorum with how he is greeted. Kurt will answer the door barefoot, a snack still be chewed, and just expect Blaine to enter and close the door behind himself. Sometimes Burt answers and just directs Blaine off to wherever Kurt is. That happened today.

“He’s up in his room, kid,” Burt had said, attention already turning back to whatever was playing out on the TV.

Kurt’s door is half opened and Kurt’s sitting cross-legged on the bed. He looks up at Blaine’s entrance. Blaine closes the door. The click is loud.

Breathless as Blaine is about to be, Kurt says, “I’m going to New York.”

Blaine forces his legs to move and not collapse. He sits next to Kurt on the bed, a foot away.

“It terrifies me,” Kurt says, grabbing Blaine’s arm. “It’s the least safe option. But… but that’s why I have to do it.”

“I understand,” Blaine says.

“I’m tired of letting fear holding me back.”

Blaine nods.

“I was afraid of you,” Kurt says. Blaine turns to him. Kurt grins. “I’m so glad I faced that down.” Kurt maneuvers up onto his knees and edges closer to Blaine. He cups his chin. “Just don’t pull away from me again. I’m not down for that bullshit.”

Blaine laughs, and Kurt kisses the corner of his upturned lips.

“I won’t be leaving Lima until next September, maybe August. That’s a lot of time. We can make it count.”

“And after?” Blaine dares to ask.

“We’ll figure it out then.”

Blaine leans in, kissing Kurt hard; Kurt didn’t seem to mind. They slid down on the bed. Blaine wants to memorize the taste of Kurt’s mouth and skin because if he can he won’t be so lonely when Kurt inevitably leaves him behind.

…

How cruel time is, stretching long during their hours apart, sprinting past in their minutes together... and always, always, marching on. Calculus class is long, dinner with his parents on non-date nights is long, and Kurt's shifts (he's forbidden Blaine from coming and distracting him unless he has a legitimate car concern) at the shop are long.  Kurt speaking in rapid-fire, snarky French (Blaine's grade has gone up just in his effort to understand half of what Kurt says) during their single shared class, Kurt enjoying lunch with the glee club as he fused into the group, their dating hours fit in between school work and _work_ work and family time... all these were wickedly, deceptively fleeting.

Every minute is a step towards graduation and Kurt going away to college and Blaine's heart dying. (Blaine might be overdramatic here, but he doesn’t care about that. He cares about Kurt).

If there is one upside to the shortage of time, even if there is all of summer break and the final month of school yet, it’s how Kurt can’t quite take his hands off Blaine for long. Movie nights, eating out, studying … they can all be damned. Anytime the two of them are alone together, Kurt pretty much pounces. They would make out, and if time and privacy warranted, get each other off in a variety of ways excepting full-on, penetrative sex.

“It’s kinda scary,” Kurt says, giggly, during some post-coital bliss. Blaine pets at his side. “How much I crave you… how much I crave _doing this_ with you…”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Blaine replies, because in these moments spent so close and intimate with Kurt, he can’t be upset by how impermanent these moments were.

“I know.” He turns his head, kisses Blaine’s shoulder. “I just never thought of myself as a slave to baser instincts.”

Blaine snorts. “Who talks like that… right after? I can’t even put sentences together.”

“Shut up,” Kurt says and Blaine savors his voice like it’s true sustenance. Let him never forget a sinlge cadence of Kurt’s voice. If only he were a poet, Blaine would find the words to describe them. Or a painter, he would depict them in the most vivid colors. But Blaine is neither of those; he is a singer, but only of other people’s words.

“You thinking hard there?” Kurt asks, rubbing a thumb at Blaine’s elbow.

“Just thinking about you.”

…

Nominations for prom king and queen are announced, and there are all sorts of drama attached, even inside the glee club, but it’s all outside Kurt and Blaine’s concerns.

“I can count on you vote, right?” Santana asks.

“I’m undecided,” Blaine says.

“Not asking you, asking you.” She points at Kurt.

“Me? Why would I vote for you?”

“Because we have a thing.” She waves a hand between the two of them.

“What thing?” Kurt asks, eyes narrowing.

Santana rolls her eyes. “A begrudging respect for being the two biggest bitches on the block.”

Blaine says, “Don’t call my boyfriend a bi—”

Santana shushs him. “I don’t expect you to vote for me, shortstop, so I’m not wasting my breath on you.”

“How about this,” Kurt says. “We stop having this conversation right now, and I’lll vote for you.”

Santana considers this for half a second. “Deal,” she says as she stands and struts off.

Blaine doesn't care about the prom king and queen voting, being as distracted as he is imagining Kurt in a suit. There are two opposite ways to imagine a man that made him instantly sexier: dressed up or dressed down. Blaine has experienced dressed down Kurt, but not opposite.

And of course they would be attending prom together… With how glued together the two of them had been lately, it hadn't even occurred to Blaine to think otherwise.

A week later, when Mercedes retells the sweet tale of Sam asking her to prom (although she’s the senior, and by all rights she should be asking him, the junior) does Blaine’s balloon of delusion get popped…

“So, how’d Kurt ask you?” Mercedes asks, chin propped up on her hand, her eyes still in dreamland.

“Oh, um.” Blaine sits up straight. “He’s hasn’t.”

Mercedes cocks her head. “You ask him?”

“No… I just sort of assumed we’d being going together. It’s not like he’s going to take someone else.”

“Oh, Blaine.” She pats his hand. “Half of the glee club asked the other half to prom through very public serenades. Did you really think it was safe to assume?”

Blaine stands, “I… I need to find Kurt.”

“Good idea,” Mercedes says, and Blaine is off. All he knows is Kurt is not currently where Blaine also is. Blaine texts: _Where are you?_

The response: _Bleachers._

Already on path there, Blaine picks up his pace.

“Hey,” Kurt says, smiling and like nothing is afoot (or not afoot as the case may be) when Blaine arrives. Blaine takes a breathe; he had rushed here.

“Care to join me?” Kurt says, pierced eyebrow rising, after Blaine’s silence and stillness. Blaine’s heart beats louder at the coy expression.

Kurt kisses Blaine on the cheek when he sits next to him. “Skipping class just to be with me?”

“I had a free period,” Blaine says, and nothing more.

“You’re being quiet,” Kurt says.

Blaine swallows then blurts it out. “Are we going prom?”

As if brushing lint from his sleeve, Kurt answers, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“Why not?”

“Wait… do you want to go?”

Blaine scoffs in replace of words, then says, “Maybe. I don’t know… With you, yes, I would.” He stares down. “Mostly I’ve been thinking about how good you’d look in suit.”

Kurt laughs. “Oh, I see how it is.” He bites his lip, grinning going flat. “I didn’t think you’d want to go to a school dance. Not after what happened…”

Blaine leans back, head clunking against one of the bleacher’s metal supports. “I hadn’t even been thinking about that. Can you believe it? I can’t.” He turns to look at Kurt. “You’ve made me so brave.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You did. You have. I’m a better person when I’m with you.”

Kurt plays with his vest’s zipper. “I’m the one who should be saying that.”

“I have to say it,” Blaine says. “And I will say it, a million times over. Until you finally believe me.”

Kurt drops the zipper and turns his hand into a fist against himself. “If going to prom’s important to you, I’ll do it.”

Blaine swells his excitement and he’s about to cheer, but he checks himself. This decision is not just about him. “Are you sure this is what you want to do.”

“I am, I think,” Kurt says, lifting his chin. “I… I never thought I’d have someone to go to prom with so I’ve been steeling myself up for years not to care about it. Now I have more friends than I’ve ever had… and I have you. And come to think of it... what’s a better _fuck you_ to everyone else in this school but to show up and have a good time despite the fact they hate me.”

“The best revenge is living well,” Blaine quotes.

“I’ll make a rebel out of you after all.”

…

Blaine tries a on simple, black tux with a white button down and a skinny tie. It’s one of the several sets of dress close he owns already. It’s a less colorful ensemble than he would usually wear but that’s what made it look sophisticated. Blaine’s sure Kurt will like him in it.

“What’re you getting all dressed up for?” Mom asks, stopping in the hall outside his door.

“Just trying it on,” Blaine says. “Trying to pick out what to wear to prom.”

“Prom?”

“I’m going with Kurt.” Blaine tugs loose his tie.

“…Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Blaine stops with the tie dangling from his neck. “I know what you’re worried about, Mom. It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It’s not okay.” She walks into his room. “I don’t think prom’s a good idea.”

“I’m not afraid,” Blaine states.

Mom cups his face. They’re about the same height. “I am,” she says. “I’m afraid.”

“Mom,” he says. He hadn’t thought about how this isn’t just _his_ fear and his past to battle. Like his first day at McKinley, Mom’s worries are more than the normal ones for most teenagers, because Blaine’s been hurt before, put in the hospital at the hands of humans who thought him less than for dating a boy.

Blaine loops his hands around her wrists. “It’ll be different this time,” he assures her. “I have whole group of friends who have my back. And I’ll be smarter, too. Kurt and I won’t go anywhere alone.” What he doesn’t add is that he’s ready now – he’s taken boxing lessons – if anything happens, this time he’ll fight back.

“I want to forbid it,” Mom says. “I want to ground you on prom night, and keep you safe forever.” She brushes her fingers over his hairline. “But I can’t do that, can I?”

“Mom,” Blaine says. “I need to do this. For me.  I can’t live my life afraid anymore.”

Mom agrees to let Blaine attend prom, although her worry shows in ringing hands whenever the topic of prom shows up. Regardless, she takes his chosen suit to be pressed and asks if he needs any money for tickets, or dinner, or a limo.

…

Blaine goes corsage shopping with Sam. Having one formal school dance under his belt, this makes Blaine the expert in Sam’s eyes.

“I don’t know whether to get one of those wrist ones or the pin ones.”

“If you don’t know if there’s a spot to pin it on her dress, get the wrist one,” Blaine says, surveying the display of flowers.

“She’s wearing purple,” Sam says. “What goes good with purple?”

“You know they have florists here that help figure out that stuff.”

Sam seems to have not thought of this before and goes to the main desk with a dazed wonder. He rings the bell on the counter. After Sam works out his arrangement with the lady florist she turns her attention to Blaine.

“What can I help you with, honey?” she says.

Blaine leans against the counter and asks, “Do you have any hot pink flowers?”

The florist perks up, enthused by this (maybe unique) request. “I have some roses I’ve got to show you.”

…

“Woah.”

“You like?” Kurt says. He takes a model like spin at the bottom the staircase after making quite an entrance walking down. Blaine’s fairly Kurt hadn’t done it in slow motion, but that’s how it was engrained in his memory.

Kurt is wearing a trendy sports jacket with bunched up, three-quarters sleeves and decorative zippers over the shoulders and down the front. This is paired with solid black skinny jeans and bright pink high top converse.

“Glad I made the right call with this,” Blaine says, presenting the corsage. As he pins it on Kurt’s lapel, Kurt says, “I can’t believe I’m going to prom.”

Blaine steps back. “Is that a ‘bad’ can’t believe?”

“No,” Kurt says. “I just can’t believe how much my life as changed this year.” He tugs as Blaine’s jacket, bringing him in for a kiss. Burt’s cleared throat breaks them apart.

“Mrs. Anderson made me promise to get some pictures of you two,” he says, holding a camera. They go through a few posed pictures before there is a car horn honked outside – Mercedes and Sam summoning them to their shared ride.

Prom is fun though not nearly as magical as a one might imagine it to be. Kurt clams up when they enter the decorated gymnasium, especially as a few sets of judging eyes land on them. Blaine grabs Kurt hands tight and follows Sam and Mercedes through the crowd until they find where the rest of the glee club has gathered. It gets easier surrounded by friends who didn’t seem to care they were gay and who formed an unofficial and unintentional barrier between them and the rest of the student body.

The night starts with the girls fawning over each other’s dresses and turns into goofy dancing along with the upbeat tempo. The DJ must have decided to start the night heavily with dance music as the students arrived at staggered times as they were there for almost an hour before the first slow song came on.

As the others paired up with their dates without question, Blaine held out his hand to Kurt. “Can I have this dance?”

Kurt slips his hand into Blaine’s. Blaine pulls him in and they fit together like they’ve danced like this before although they haven’t. Maybe that’s true familiarity, no awkward fumbling even during firsts. The song goes on, and they sway together – warm and content.

…

“If you don’t mind skipping out on Rachel’s after prom party, I kinda made some other plans… for us,” Kurt says.

“What plans?”

“I may have rented a hotel room.”

 “Oh,” Blaine says. He unbuttons his cuff, then… “Oh!”

Kurt snickers. “You got there eventually.”

“Do you mean what I think you mean?”

“Let’s go be a prom cliché,” Kurt says, eyes dancing with lights, though it may just be the last reflections of the disco ball swirling over the dance floor.

Blaine gulps and nods vigorously.

…

Every touch is singeing even though they’ve touched it all before. Newness brings lightening to their kisses and to the noises they make in the back of their throats. They’re mostly stripped down, taking their time – they have the whole night for once – with the petting and foreplay.

“How do you want to…?” Blaine asks between breathes.

“Everything,” Kurt replies, distracted as he nips along Blaine’s jaw.

Blaine reluctantly pulls away. “No, I mean… who’s going where?”

“Do you have a preference?” Kurt asks.

“I’ve haven’t tried either yet, so, no.”

“I want to do both, eventually,” Kurt whispers. Blaine feels Kurt’s hot breathes on his neck more than he hears him. “We’ve all summer for that.” Blaine groans at the promise. “But tonight,” Kurt goes on, “Or at least first tonight. I want… I want you…” He shudders off.

Blaine rakes his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “Kurt?

Kurt blinks open his eyes and they’re fiery. “I want to feel you inside me. That’s the scarier one, I think, at least for me, but you make me so unafraid.”

Almost on reflex, Blaine says, “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready –”

Kurt grunts, and it’s the annoyed kind, not the sexy kind. “Blaine,” he says, throwing his head back on the pillow in overdone exasperation. “I _want to_. So why don’t you shush the fuck up and start fingering me.”

Blaine chocks on the air. “Yes. Yes. Okay,” he answers.

…

“You okay?” Blaine asks, after, in a whispers.

“I’m perfect,” Kurt answers and Blaine can hear his smile. He blinks slowly, and his eyelashes dust against Blaine’s cheek as Kurt has settled his head on Blaine’s shoulder. “Perfect… because I’m here with you.”

 

   

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the updating delay. I wasn't inspired for this story. Heads up, I'm getting really close to the end of this story. There will probably be around two more chapters. I tried to edit, but if there a lot of typos it's because I'm rushing to post this before I leave for vacation and don't have internet connection.


	22. Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I haven't updated for a long time (by my standards). I apologize for that, but I got caught up writing for other fandoms and actually was unsure with the final direction for this fic. However, you're actually lucky for the long wait because it gave me some perspective on what to write and I actually was inspired to cover more time than I thought. And, also, this is not the last chapter, which I thought it could be.

Burt roars with applause when Kurt’s name is called. Blaine smiles and claps, but his palms feel numb. Kurt’s handed his diploma, given a handshake from Principle Figgins who looks notably relieved that Kurt is finally, officially out of the jurisdiction of his responsibility. Kurt wears a bemused slant of a grin as he moves his tassel from one side of his mortarboard hat to the other.

Blaine finds Kurt first after graduation. Kurt’s robe is already undone, hanging open from his shoulders, showing the all black outfit not appropriate for the May heat. Blaine gives him a hug, sneaks a kiss on the cheek as he draws back. Burt’s there a second later, swooping Kurt into a bear hug that makes Kurt laugh.

“What do you say we go out for lunch,” Burt says, and he claps Blaine on the shoulder, telling him that’s he’s invited too.

…

They’re not the only McKinley people in Breadstix celebrating graduation, but none of the rest run in Kurt or Blaine’s circle, so none of them say anything to Kurt.

“I can’t believe I’m finally free of that place,” Kurt says. He’s leaning with one elbow on the table, his posture loose and his voice elated, like he’s pleasantly tipsy without drinking a drop.

Burt doesn’t say anything, and it’s from Blaine’s understanding that Burt had been one of those types where high school was all nostalgic, best-days-of-my-life things. But Burt also knew he hadn’t been through the same experiences Kurt had.

Or maybe Burt knew, just as Blaine did, that this was the beginning of the end. Summer break is followed by fall semester, and that means Kurt in New York and not here, with them.

…

“You coming to Rachel’s graduation party tomorrow?” Kurt asks Blaine, cuddled on Kurt’s bed some time after lunch.

“You are?” Blaine asks.

Kurt shrugs like he’s embarrassed to have friends. “I asked about you.”

“Of course,” Blaine says. “It might be the last time I see some of the seniors.”

“Don’t be morbid.” Kurt flicks at his ear.

“I’m serious. Like… I like most of them, but a lot of them I never hung out with outside of school. It’s not going to start happening now… It’s just how things are.”

“Well,” Kurt says, rolling in closer and tucking his chin on Blaine’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry about that with me.”

Blaine hums for an answer. That’s exactly what he’s worried about most.

“I’m still bummed about Nationals,” Kurt says a moment of silence later.

“Me too,” Blaine answers. They got in fourth place, which, in a way, was pretty impressive. Fourth best show choir in the nation, but New Directions had been shooting for a win. They’re always shooting for a win.

“Which is weird,” Kurt adds. “Because I don’t even like it that much.”

“Liar. You do like it.”

“Where’s your fucking proof, Anderson?”

Blaine lifts his eyebrows. “You’re still bummed about Nationals.”

Kurt scoffs but doesn’t protest further.

…

Blaine spends as much time as he can with Kurt that summer, all around Kurt working almost full time hours at the garage to build up spending money for college. Most of their private time is spent making out, making love, and all those privates touches that share exclusively between themselves when they’re sequestered safely away. They go on inexpensive dates to the movies and to Breadstix, and watch TV in Kurt’s living room, sometimes with Burt as company.

Kurt has a map of New York City pinned to his wall. He’s marked his college and all the places round the city he wants to visit. Broadway and Times Square are of particular focus. Whenever they nap in his room – whether after some act of passion or just for the sack of napping together – Blaine can’t fall asleep. Instead, he stares at the map as he measures the weight and warmth of Kurt next to him.

…

Blaine rides along in the backseat as Burt takes Kurt to the airport. Kurt’s knee jiggles up and down as he runs through with nervous energy. He’s all quick chatter mixed with bouts of silence. Burt and Blaine are mostly wordless, answering any of Kurt’s inquiries, but only in the succinct fashion. The radio plays Top 40 mixed with commercial jingles in the background, making sure it never gets too quiet with all of them not talking at once.

Blaine and Kurt had their long goodbye last night, with sex and kissing and hugs and whispered promises and a few tears on both their parts. He’s sure Burt and Kurt had father-son goodbyes too, in a separate private moment.

“I can’t believe I’m actually going,” Kurt says as the car approaches the airport sign. “I’ve been thinking about it for so long. They day’s here. I’m going.”

As they pull into the parking lot, going along to the drop off area, Kurt says in a small voice, “I’m suddenly really scared.”

“You’ll do great,” Blaine says, leaning forward. Burt reaches across the space between seats and clutches Kurt’s shoulder in a way that must communicate more than words can.

“He’ll do great,” Blaine says to Burt as he lingers outside the airport after Kurt has already disappeared inside.

“I know,” Burt says, and Blaine believes him. “Doesn’t mean I won’t worry.”

…

Two weeks away at college and Kurt calls Blaine sniffling after what must have been a good cry.

“It’s just harder than I thought,” Kurt says as Blaine tuts sympathetically. “I’m not good at making friends.”

“I know it’s hard,” Blaine says.

“I miss you. I miss my dad. I even miss the fucking glee club.” He laughs in a way that’s half a sob.

“I miss you too,” Blaine says as a whisper into the receiver. “So much.”

They’re quiet for a minute of listening to each other breathe.

“Just make it until Thanksgiving break,” Blaine says, because that’s what he tells himself when he’s feeling lonely.

“I never thought I’d miss home so much.”

“It’ll get better,” Blaine says. “New places are just hard.” Maybe it can’t compare to a new city, but that’s how Blaine felt starting at McKinley, but then he met Kurt and it was all worth it.

“It’s all worth it,” Blaine says.

Kurt replies, “Yeah,” not quite believing.

“… do you want me to stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep?”

“Would you?” Kurt says, his voice hopeful, as Blaine offers what he wants so much but wouldn’t have dared ask for.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. He presses down onto his own pillow, thinking that hearing Kurt breath and those little noises he did as he got tired would almost be like Kurt lying beside him again.

…

Kurt comes back for Thanksgiving break with blue in his hair where pink used to be.

“I just wanted a change,” Kurt says as Blaine runs his fingers through the differently-colored locks like he expected them to feel different too.

“It goes with your eyes,” Blaine says. Kurt snorts but looks secretly pleased.

“No new piercings or tattoos, though, right?” Burt asks.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “No, Dad.”

Later, after dinner at the Hummel house, Kurt puts his hand to his blue hair, asks Blaine, “Do you hate it?”

“What?”

“You keep staring,” Kurt says.

“I don’t hate it,” Blaine says, sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed. “It’s just different.”

Kurt paces the room he hasn’t slept in for over two months. He drifts his fingers over the dresser top, streaking the dust.

“That’s sounds like a nice way of saying you hate it.”

“I just had you fixed in my head one way and I have to adjust to the difference.”

Kurt turns from the dresser, now facing Blaine. He leans back against it. “Bad different?”

“Just different different,” Blaine says because he doesn’t know how to explain that the unsettled twist in his stomach over the fact that Kurt has changed without him there to witness it.

…

Kurt goes back to New York after Thanksgiving break and it changes. Blain’s not sure where the exact pinpointed moment is, but he notices it when some guy named Elliot starts popping up in Kurt’s facebook feed.

Elliot who is “interested in men” according to his public profile. Elliot who is a few years older than Kurt, and fucking tall, and loves music, and fits in with Kurt’s aesthetics more than Blaine and his polo shirts ever could.

Elliot, who is in New York with Kurt.

“Are you jealous?” Kurt says, a lilt of amusement to his voice. Despite all his efforts to sound blasé, Blaine clearly was see-through – or well, hear-through – when he asked, “So who’s this Elliot guy?”

“No,” Blaine says.

“You are!” Kurt accuses, but again amused. He laughs. “You’re jealous. You know Elliot’s just a friend, right?”

“Sure,” Blaine answers. Elliot’s just… taller, older, closer…

“Don’t you trust me?” Kurt asks, more serious.

Blaine presses his phone closer to his ear. “Of course I do. I think it’s just the distance. I miss you so much I’m going paranoid.”

“He’s just my friend, but he’s important to me. I’m not good at making friends,” Kurt says. “I want you to be happy for me.”

“I _am_ happy for you.” What Blaine really feels is properly chastised, although that hadn’t been Kurt’s intent.

 Blaine wishes he could see Kurt face right then, see the nervous biting of his lip that surely happen, before the deviousness bloomed into his eyes, when Kurt next says, “So, you were jealous, huh?”

“Yeah?” Blaine repeats, unsure.

“That’s kind of… hot.”

Blaine shifts in his bedroom desk chair. “Oh.”

“Very hot.”

“Too bad I’m not there to do anything about it.”

“We can do something about it.”

“You mean…” _phone sex._

“You know, Anderson, I just got out of the shower when you called.”

“Oh,” Blaine says again. He should be using his words right now, but Kurt seems pretty satisfied with monologue.

“My roommate’s not here, and I’m just in a towel… Now I’m in nothing.”

Blaine groans. “I wish I could touch you.”

“What would you do to me?” Kurt teases.

Blaine takes a shuddering breath. “Kiss every inch of you.”

“Starting where?”

“Your lips,” Blaine says. He might miss Kurt’s lips most of all. “Then down your neck.” He sure misses that long neck as well. Kurt ‘mmm’s unabashedly. He always loves neck kisses.

Blaine swallows hard. “Down your body. I’d stop at your belly button for a bit.”

“Where to next?” Kurt asks, breathless.

“You know where.”

“You still dressed?” Kurt asks suddenly. Blaine nods even though he can’t be seen. “Get undressed,” Kurt demands. Blaine gladly follows the order.

…

Phone sex staves them over until winter break, and the impressive dirty talk the two of them developed makes their uniting day rather invigorating.

…

“I really admire what you’re doing,” his mom said when she walked in on his staring at the screen of his phone. He had been watching the minutes tick by as he waited for Kurt’s to reply to his text. Mom didn’t know that, probably thought he is engaged in an active conversation. And yes, Blaine knows how pathetic he’s being. (It’s not like he doesn’t have other friends. People he barely hung out with last school years have become close confidants of his, like Tina, Sam, and the new kids to have joined the glee club.)

“What?” Blaine asks her.

“The long distance relationship. Those are hard, but I admire your dedication. You and Kurt both. Especially being so young.” She continues on up stairs – she’s just passing through – not knowing she had just stabbed Blaine through with words. Because, just a month ago, over winter break, Kurt and Blaine had been all over each other (in private) and glued to each other (in public) and affectionate otherwise. A happy, _together_ couple.

Eleven minutes. That’s not that long. It’s completely reasonable. Blaine doesn’t know the nuances of Kurt’s schedule this semester like last. He could be in class, at work – hell – taking a shower. What is unreasonable is Blaine, right now. Twelve minutes.

It’s not Kurt’s fault he’s been swept up by New York. He has school, a part-time job, in a few university organizations, and an entire city to explore. And Elliot. Ugh.

It’s not Kurt’s fault that he’s found his footing, but it’s a little painful on Blaine’s side, when he knows what’s going on in Kurt’s life more from his facebook feed than from Kurt telling Blaine himself. In fact, Blaine should be happy that Kurt doesn’t need to cry on the phone to Blaine due homesickness.

Doesn’t mean Blaine doesn’t miss it. Being needed. Feeling that intimacy with Kurt across a great distance, more intimate than phone sex, just listening to him breathe, sniffles smoothing out as he falls asleep, being able to hear all those things you don’t know are important until you don’t experience it anymore.

Maybe that makes Blaine a bad person, but Blaine’s never been as strong as he wants to be.


	23. Promise

Blaine would've ignored his ringing phone if it weren't so shrill, rattling in his ears and making his brain ache. He flails out a hand, and it lands on the empty space on his nightstand where he usually keeps it. He squints his eyes open against the morning light – noon light if his clock is accurate – and, yep, no phone there. He rolls over, feels a lump in his front pocket. He's still in his jeans. He tugs the phone out and stares at the screen until he processes that it's Kurt's name spelled out there.

He answers, pressing the phone to his ear, and says, "Hey" in a way that he wants to be excited and affectionate, but comes out scratchy and lackluster.

"Really, Blaine?" Kurt says, in that superior, unimpressed way of his.

Blaine clears his throat. "Really what?"

"What do you remember about last night?"

Blaine can just imagine Kurt narrowing his eyes, examining Blaine. In Blaine's imagination, Kurt still has pink hair.

What Blaine does remember about last night is a series of bad decision. Being convinced to go to a party he would have rather not attended. "You really going to spend another Friday night in? That's getting kind of pathetic," Tina had told him, Unique nodding sagely along.

Everyone was well on their way to tipsy by the time Blaine arrived – laughing loudly, talking loudly, dancing absurdly. Blaine had tucked himself into a corner, stayed away from it all. Sulking, essentially. He didn't want to have fun; he wanted to be miserable about missing Kurt. At some point Tina pressed a solo cup of something into his hands with a wink. Some point later, Blaine was going drink-for-drink with Sam. Bad decision, considering Sam is taller and broader. But Kurt couldn't possibly know about these bad decisions.

“You left me a drunk voicemail last night,” Kurt says.

Blaine groans. "What did I say?" he asks, positively wincing.

"You don't remember?"

Blaine remembers brooding about Kurt while drunk, talking about Kurt while drunk, _waxing poetic_ about Kurt while drunk. Calling Kurt would have been a natural progression. Blaine hadn't exactly been a responsible drinker last night. He doesn't remember getting in his own bed, even.

“You said you missed me,” Kurt says.

“That’s not that bad,” Blaine replies aloud with what he meant to be just a thought.

“That’s just where it started,” Kurt snaps back. Blaine hears him sigh over the line, maybe shifting where he’s standing or sitting. “You know, it’s not so much what you said, but that you had to get drunk to say it. It was obviously building up for a while.”

Blaine swallows, and it reminds him how dry his mouth tastes. Blaine had been a balloon filling up with emotions for a while. Did he finally pop?

“I don’t remember what I said,” Blaine says again. “I don’t remember calling you… but I think I can guess what I might’ve said.”

“Guess, then.”

“What?”

“Guess.” Blaine pictures Kurt crossing his arms obstinately, but he couldn’t really being doing that while holding a phone to his ear. “I want to hear you say what you have to say without you being drunk.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, and it’s sort of a plea because Blaine _doesn’t know_ what he said last night, and he has so much to say, because he has so much he feels. Now, he’s being asked to tear it all out and reveal his own weakness.

Kurt echoes back “Blaine” in a softer and less demanding tone then the rest the conversation. “I want to hear you…” It’s an opening. It’s a hand held out to hold.

Blaine pulls his quilt tighter around his legs, then says, “I miss you. I miss you so much… It’s like a hangover.” Kurt snorts. “It is! When I’m with you, when we’re together, it’s like living in a higher plan of existence. And when you’re gone, I’m just going through withdraw.    

“And – and you’re so far away, Kurt. You’re so far away and you have this whole other life in New York that I’m not a part of. And honestly, sometimes it feels like you forget about me, because tied up with all these new, exciting stuff in your life. How can I compare? I’m just anchor back in Ohio.”

“Blaine –”

“Then I hate myself for thinking this way. For being selfish. And…” Blaine wets his lips with his tongue. “I miss you so much. Every second you find your place – you rightful place – in college, in New York – is a moment you don’t need me so much anymore. See? Selfish.”

Blaine takes a shuddering breath and leaves this off. So he could probably go on longer, like a true epic poet, but he leaves this. He said what he needed – condemned himself.

“Blaine,” says Kurt, quiet and tender, like an absolution. “See… all you have to do is tell me.”

“You’re not mad?”

“…Remember a long time ago when you said everyone has something behind the curtain?”

“Back when I gave you a ride in the rain? And you hated me still?”

“I never hated you,” Kurt replies. “I was just baring my teeth because you were getting too close.”

Blaine never thought of it this way, but it relieves him. “So, curtains?” Blaine prompts.

“Your metaphor,” Kurt says, “If you remember.”

“I do.”

“Instead of punk clothes and attitude, you hide behind your charm and bowties. But you’re just as vulnerable as I am,” Kurt says. “I’m beginning to think all people are. We’ll all armor and acting on the outside, and something else hidden underneath.”

“That’s philosophical.”

“Well, yes, I am a college student now.”

Blaine huffs, curls his toes under the blanket. “Did I guess right?”

“The jist of it.”

“Oh.”

“I want to know these things, Blaine. I want to know if you’re feeling neglected, or lonely, or sad. I’m your boyfriend and your friend, even if I’m temporarily dazzled by the lights of the Big Apple.”

Blaine sniffles. He hadn’t even realized he was choking up.

“Okay?” Kurt asks.

“Okay,” Blaine answers. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

…

They renegotiate how they communicate, especially concerning communicating their needs to communicate. No more texting “call me when you can” when Blaine really means “I really need to hear your voice as soon as viably possible for my emotional health.” There is a certain bluntness that Blaine has to adjust to, but he’s not the only one. Kurt has differentiate his “call me NOW” texts into more specific categories like “Exciting news!” or “I really need to vent.”

With school work, friends, and extracurricular, they don’t schedule anything regular, but they made sure to not go more than a week without a skype date, barring extraordinary circumstances. None such extraordinary circumstances have yet come up.

Blaine still misses Kurt like an ache that can’t be iced away, but he’s not drowning in it anymore. His mom even comments that he’s been happier lately, asks if Blaine had went through something that she hadn’t noticed. He had, but he didn’t have the simple words to explain it. He shook his head no instead.

He had gone through something, and it took a bit for Blaine to understand it. Homesickness. He had just overcome an acute case of homesickness, because Kurt is his home. With Kurt is the place he’s most comfortable, most safe, most loved.

…

Spring, and it’s an echo of a year ago. This time they are in Blaine’s room and this time Kurt’s the one looking at Blaine’s college acceptance letters.

“You got into all of them. Congrats.”

Blaine leans against his door jam. “I write a hell of a college essay.”

“I believe that,” Kurt says with an affectionate smirk. “You’re just so damn earnest. You probably had the recruiters eating out of the palm of your hand.” Kurt twists the corner of one of the pages. “This one’s in LA. I heard they have a fucking great music program.”

“Miss Pillsbury wanted me to broaden my horizons, not just apply to New York schools. I humored her. I applied to a school in Columbus… that was for my mom.”

“You thinking about going?”

“To the school in Columbus? No.”

“Blaine.”

Blaine steps into the room. “You know I want to be in New York with you.”

Kurt stares at the letter. “It’s a really good school.”

“So are the ones in New York. Plus, you’re there.”

 Kurt looks up. “You can’t make your college decision based on where I am.”

Blaine takes the letters over of Kurt’s hands and folds them along their creases. “Yes I can,” he says, pressing the letters back onto the nightstand.

“I didn’t stay in Ohio for you,” Kurt says, gaze steady. “I can’t expect you to come to New York for me.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows and asks, not so seriously but a little seriously, “Do you not want me there?”

“Of course I want you there,” Kurt says, “Of course! But you can’t make one of your biggest life decisions based on me.” He snatches the folded letters over the nightstand and holds them aloft. “I don’t want you to miss out on any great opportunities because some sense of obligation. That could lead to resentment, then anger, then a horrible break up – Don’t laugh at me!”

Blaine tries to contain his smirk, but it just twists into another type of amused smile. “You watch too much TV.”

“This is serious.”

“I’m taking this seriously,” Blaine says. He steps in closer, takes a light hold of Kurt’s elbows. “There is nothing more that I want than to be in New York with you. It’s all I’ve been thinking about since the day you got on that plane.” He brushes a kiss over Kurt’s mouth.

“But…,” Kurt says, between a kiss and another. “But if I wasn’t part of the equation… is that what you’d still want?”

Blaine releases a breath. He’d rather being pushing Kurt back on his bed, reacquainting their bodies, then having this conversation.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. His LA school and NYC school are evenly matched, and the cities as well, when Kurt’s not a consideration.

Kurt leans back to give Blaine a proper piercing look. “Consider it, please,” Kurt says, “Before you send in your acceptance. Do it knowing that I won’t break up with you or resent you if you choose… if you choose not New York. We can make long distance work again, like we did this last year.”

Blaine opens his mouth protest. He doesn’t have any want to do any more prolonged long distance. He wants Kurt 24/7, if he could manage it.  

Kurt presses his fingers over Blaine’s lips. “Do it for me,” Kurt says, “I love you so much. I need to know you’re making the best decision for you.”

Blaine nods and purses his lips just enough to kiss Kurt’s fingertips, but he can’t contemplate a world where Kurt isn’t there by his side.

…

Blaine has the acceptance letter and the university brochures spread out on the table and about fourteen tabs open on his laptop.

“What’re you doing, honey?” Mom asks when she steps into the dining room.

“Deciding what college to go to.”

“I thought you were pretty set on New York.”

“I was, until Kurt told me to consider the options without him as a factor.”

“That’s probably a smart idea,” Mom says, planting a brief kiss on his head. She leaves him to his considerations.  Of course she would say that. Adults all thought Kurt and Blaine were too young to last in the long run. They had impressed quite a few people by surviving in their long distance relationship so far.

Blaine digs his thumbs into his temples. It’s so frustrating. No one knows the depths or complexities or nuances of Kurt and Blaine’s relationship other than the two of them.

Blaine reaches out and slides a letter and brochure set in front of himself. This was the choice. It always had been, but Blaine hadn’t really gotten it until now.

…

He closes the door of Kurt’s room for privacy. It’s the last day of his break, then he’ll be gone until summer.

“I’ve made my decision.”

Kurt sits on the edge of the bed. “Yeah?” he says, like he’s expecting to be disappointed.

“Yeah,” Blaine says. He stands in front of Kurt a few paces back. He pushes his hands into his pockets. “New York. It was always New York.”

“Are you –”

Blaine cuts his off with a hand.  “I’m sure.” He’s smiling. He can’t contain it. “Really sure.”

Kurt eyes light up and he doesn’t have to say anything for Blaine to know that Kurt’s imagining them in New York together.

“There’s more,” Blaine says. He shifts weight between feet. “Another decision.”

Kurt’s eyebrows tick inward as his expression shifts into confusion. “Another?”

Blaine nods. “You said choosing a college was one of the most important decisions in my life.”

“I did.”

“But there are other important decisions. Like who you’re going to spend your life with.” Blaine gets down on one knee right there in the middle of Kurt’s bedroom.

Kurt throws out an arm. “What’re you doing?”

“You told me to consider colleges without you as a factor, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine being brave enough to move to big city if you didn’t make me brave. I couldn’t imagine studying music as a major if I hadn’t ever heard you sing and remembered what a magic music is, not just a hobby. I can’t imagine being the person I am today without you.” Blaine closes his eyes for a few seconds, preparing himself for what he needs to say. He opens his eyes, and Kurt’s there before him, wide-eyed, and that’s all the bravery Blaine needs.

“I’m going to marry you someday, Kurt Hummel. If you’ll have me.”

Kurt makes a sound that like’s a laugh and a sob and a sigh all in one. “Of course I’ll have you.”

Blaine digs his school ring out of his pocket. “I want you to have this,” he says, taking Kurt’s hand in his own and pressing the ring into his palm. “You don’t have to wear it or anything, but I want you to take it to New York with you so every time you look at it you remember that I’ll be there with you next year.”

“Like a promise?” Kurt says, curling his hand around the ring.

“Exactly,” Blaine says. “I’m going to propose to you for real one day. I’ll probably sing. It will be really embarrassing and over the top.”

Kurt wipes under his eye with the cuff of his sleeve. “I look forward to it.”

…

Two years later to the day, Blaine makes good on that promise. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the end. I hope you enjoyed it. I think I brought the story to it's natural end.


End file.
